Bundle
by kouw
Summary: Secrets are Mrs Carson's specialty and the one Mrs Patmore has brought to her attention requires a fair amount of her skill
1. the news

**Thursday afternoon**

"What do you think?" Beryl asks and picks up her cup. Her trembling fingers are in stark contrast with her steady voice. Elsie pours herself another cup before answering and holds it in both hands - most unladylike, but it chases away the chill that had fallen over her when Beryl told her the news.

At first Elsie had thought her good friend was visiting to spend the time of day, or perhaps to have a little gossip. Maybe to talk about Mr Mason and his slow, gentle courting or about the rumours of the Abbey being sold to the National Trust with the family not actually making much money at all. She wondered if it might have to do with the bed and breakfast and if Lucy was perhaps leaving.

But it had been something quite different.

"Maybe it's something in the water," Elsie says and she watches Beryl snort a laugh in spite of herself. She doesn't stifle the chuckle that escapes her and the friends share a giggle.

"We oughtn't laugh," Elsie says, still hiccuping.

"We really shouldn't," Beryl agrees and retrieves her handkerchief from her sleeve to wipe away the tears that are streaming down her face.

"It's actually very serious," Elsie manages to say, her eyes crinkled shut.

Beryl nods, averting her eyes.

"No, really. They should have been more responsible." Elsie frowns and sighs. After all, it is easy to say people have to be responsible when you're safely married and of a certain age.

"No use saying that now. I'm afraid it's a quick trip to the Registry Office."

"Have they told Mr Mason?" Elsie asks and reaches for her cup; only when she lifts it does she remember it's empty.

"I shouldn't think so. I had Daisy in with me only this morning as she was getting fairly green about the gills when I told her to scramble the eggs for the dining room breakfast." Mrs Patmore is stacking the saucers and cups, so they are ready to take to the sink to be washed.

"Has she told Andrew?"

"Your guess is as good as mine! I was rather shaken, I can tell you."

Elsie sighs again and just as she wants to start making plans, she hears the front door being unlocked and opened and the humming of a very contented man is drifting through the hall towards the kitchen.

"Best not discuss any of this with Mr Carson, yet," Elsie whispers to her friend and they both rise to take care of the cups and biscuit tin.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you with this on your day off," Beryl says, and Elsie shrugs.

"I suppose you can take the house out of the housekeeper, but the housekeeper will always have some secret to keep."

"What's all this about secrets?" Charles obviously heard the last of Elsie's words and she turns to him, smiling, speaking quickly to distract him.

"Why, a secret is no longer a secret when it's told, you know that. Did you have a nice walk?"

From the corner of her eye she sees Beryl biting down on her lip so she won't burst out laughing again.

"Hmm. Nice day. Built up a bit of an appetite. Is there more tea in that pot?" He leans over the table and lifts the lid and shakes his head.

"I'll make you a fresh one as soon as I've seen Beryl to the door."

Quickly Elsie ushers Beryl to the hall and helps her with her coat. As Beryl checks the glass to see if her hat is straight, she quietly says they'll have more to discuss in the morning.

"In the sanctity of the Housekeeper's Parlour," Beryl agrees and opens the door and turns around.

"Things will be alright, won't they?" she asks and Elsie shrugs.

"We'll have to wait and see."

Elsie watches her friend walk down the path and down the road that leads to the house that still dictates so many aspects of her life. When Beryl is out of sight, she closes the door and leans against it, the wood hard against her head, the pins pricking into her skull.

"Are you alright?"

It's Charles, standing in the doorway, a cheese sandwich in his hand, looking handsome in his tweeds and shirtsleeves rolled up to halfway his elbow.

"A Housekeeper's work is never done," she says and she sees a frown flit over Charles's face.

"Isn't it your birthday soon?" he asks then and she thinks the question a little quaint at least.

"It is. Are you planning a lovely surprise for me?" she teases him.

He smiles. "Perhaps."

"Come on. Let's go in and I'll fix you that cuppa."

Together they go back into the kitchen where it's warm and where they are just Charles and Elsie. Where they can leave what they do - or used to do - behind. Where all they are, is an elderly married couple. Happy to see each other. Drinking tea and eating cheese sarnies.

But in the back of Elsie's mind is Daisy's predicament and she is already preparing for the moment she is going to have to tell all of it to Charles. Secrets left too long become burdens too heavy to carry, she knows that from experience. But it's not the time for it yet. She really hopes it will be sooner rather than later.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

 _possibly to be continued_


	2. keeping secrets

**Thursday to Friday night**

She is wrapped up in the covers and beside her is the comforting bulk of her husband. He is making little noises in his sleep: soft, gentle snores and the mumbling of undecipherable words. Normally she falls asleep easily next to him. The fatigue of the day combined with a deep, quiet sense of belonging is all she needs to drift off for a good couple of hours. Not this night though.

The news Beryl has shared with her lies heavily on her mind.

Why hadn't they waited? Couldn't they have kept to themselves a little longer? She already knows Charles will be raising his voice, pontificating about discipline and chastity and honour when she breaks the news to him. He'll pace up and down their small parlour and once he's done talking about how Andrew and Daisy should have known better, he'll be starting on her and Beryl, saying they should have kept a closer eye on the young people.

She can easily imagine him saying they all should have known better and that he blames the war for fading morals and that those short skirts aren't helping one little bit. And because she knows herself, she can already hear herself responding that it shouldn't matter how short a girl's skirt is and that Daisy and Andy are in love.

He'll tell her that it's no excuse. That Andrew should have kept to himself. Being in love doesn't mean you get to let go of all morality. She knows that she'll shrug and turn around and leave him to stew. She knows that she'll put the kettle on and that water will be splashed about because she might look calm on the inside, she'll be raging on the inside.

Being in love is not the young couple's excuse; it's their reason.

She turns to her side and looks at her husband's sleeping form. Would they have been able to hold off long enough, she wonders. The stars didn't align that way for them when they still could have gotten into trouble and it is hard to imagine herself succumbing to Charles's charms. Not that she doesn't enjoy it when he reaches for her. On the contrary: his attentions are very welcome now they've learned more about one another's bodies and when they are managing to let go of their shame and embarrassment.

When they do, they make love in their bed, between the crisp, white sheets. They are quiet - mostly. She had surprised them both with a keening sound she once made. Charles had managed to blush and look terribly proud at the same time. Elsie's cheeks are reddening just thinking about it. Especially as she remembers that this sound has been provoked several times since.

Because of this, Elsie finds it difficult to simply blame Daisy for giving in. She wishes the pair had been more careful. She wishes there was something available that would help a woman protect herself from finding herself in the situation Daisy is in now. She has heard married women visiting a doctor to have a device fitted that helps them prevent conception.

Would Elsie have gotten such a device? The answer is beyond her imagination. Thirty-five years ago, the world she and Charles lived in wasn't ready for married Butlers and Housekeepers. Besides, she had always been ambitious. She had preferred hard work and prestige over hard work and drudgery.

Would she have felt the same had Charles pursued her then? Possibly not. Who's to say? She runs the tip of her finger over the bridge of Charles's nose.

She gasps when his hand closes around hers.

"You are thinking so loudly, it woke me," he grumbles.

"I'm sorry. You go back to sleep."

Another kiss on his cheek and one on his lips.

"No, I'm awake now." He lets out a massive sigh and turns to face her. Her hand is still trapped in his. "What has you up at this time of night?"

"I've just got a lot on my mind, that's all," she says and she smiles a little smile at him.

"Something wrong at the Abbey?" He crunches up a bit, let's go of her hand and props himself up, his elbow sinking deeply into the mattress.

"Hmm. I'll let you know when I've sorted things out for myself," she says and he nods. He knows she keeps her promises.

"Charles?"

"Yes, Elsie?"

She wants to ask him if he would have considered having a family with her had they been young and passionate. If he could have seen himself with a throng of proud, straightbacked children. If he would have lost all thought of propriety and would have taken her against the wall of the storecupboard. Back then. Way back when. But she doesn't. Instead she says:

"I love you."

He puts his arm around her and pulls her close. "And I love you."

Charles yawns. "You best get some rest. They're expecting you in the morning."

He doesn't have to see who are. Elsie kisses him one more time and turns over, pulling the sheets up to her nose. He is right, of course. Tomorrow will be another day, willed with ledgers and making demands and being demanded. A days as any other. Except of course the news that was relayed to her that very afternoon.

Charles slides his arm around Elsie's waist and cuddles up close. With her eyes closed, Elsie pushes back against him, her bottom coming in close contact with a particular part of his anatomy (a part she never addresses, a part she doesn't even have a word for) and it springs to life. He can feel him, rather than hear him, chuckle.

"Naughty," he whispers in her ear and she shivers with delight.

Pressing back against him again, she knows that holding back will be the furthest from either their minds.


	3. the past and the present

**A/N:** Taking this story off hiatus. Serious in front, party in the back (first half is serious, with a TW for blood, second half is smut.) Hope you enjoy.

* * *

 **Saturday afternoon**

She's restless. Ever since she left the cottage in the early morning, she's been thinking about how to get the conversation started. She can't very well waltz into the kitchen and ask the poor girl outright. Obviously Elsie has had to deal with her fair share of girls getting into trouble (Ethel comes to mind and she sends up a quick prayer for her and little Charlie. Who is not so small anymore, of course. Time seems to be slipping by almost unnoticed until you are pushed to see it) but today is different. Daisy is different.

Elsie takes another turn around her small parlour - walking from her desk to the door and back, her hand planted on her side towards the small of her back. She can feel her corset under her fingers, stiff and unrelenting. A reminder of times gone by. Times have changed so much since she was a young woman, though some things remain the same. Girls will carry the evidence of love and they will be condemned for it.

Since her wedding and her honeymoon Elsie knows more about lying with a man, she can understand how a woman can give herself in that way and not think about the consequences. There are nights when Charles's hand on her skin sets her core alight with want. A hunger that can only be stilled by being wrapped around him, by feeling his weight on top of her. By the coming together of their bodies.

She no longer judges the girls who fall prey to this passion.

But what will she tell Daisy? That it is vital that Andrew marries her as soon as can be arranged? Well, of course. She wants to protect Daisy from gossip and cruelty and seeing Daisy settled at the farm would absolutely help with that. Her mind is going in overdrive when she thinks of what Daisy might tell her: that Andrew doesn't want to step up to the plate? Or, what if Daisy tells her it's not Andrew's.

Her thoughts are interrupted by a quick, almost nervous, knock on her door.

"Mrs Patmore sent me. She said you wanted a word."

Elsie nods and offers Daisy a chair with an elegant gesture.

"She's told you, then?" Daisy says, not a tremble in her voice or her hands to be noticed.

Elsie nods.

"I see."

The old housekeeper and the younger assistant cook both take a deep breath.

"What is that you want to do?" Elsie asks.

Daisy shrugs. "There are not very many options," she says and runs her hand through her neatly bobbed hair.

"Is there any of them you are considering more than the others?"

There is no answer.

"Daisy… you have told… the father… haven't you?" Goodness, why must it be so difficult speaking about these things?

"Not yet."

"Don't you think you should?"

"At first I tried to deny it had happened. I thought it might be a bout of 'flu. Or something I ate - even if I only eat what I make myself and I haven't killed anyone with my cooking yet."

A feeble joke that makes Elsie smile softly. "Have you seen anyone, to confirm that you're…?"

Daisy shakes her head. "It can't be anything else. When you know, you know, Mrs Hughes."

Running both hands over her face, Elsie answers: "I'll take your word for it."

She wets her lips before continuing, practical as ever: "Alright. First things first. You tell… well. Him, I suppose. Consider your options carefully. Don't do anything _stupid_."

"Yes, Mrs Hughes."

Elsie has seen it happen all too often. Mostly to girls her own age when she started out in service. Forced to please the men of the house - mostly against their will - and taking desperate measures. Forty year old memories, once carefully locked in a little compartment in the furthest corners of her mind, overwhelm her suddenly. Memories of cleaning blood out of sheets and off floors flood her consciousness.

"Promise me, Daisy. Promise me." Her voice sounds shrill and forceful. Elsie's heart pounds forcefully against muslin, cotton and whalebone. Her hands ball into fists, the knuckles whitening.

"Promise me," she pleads through gritted teeth.

Daisy nods. Then she says with a feeble voice. "I promise. But I am going to have to leave and this is my home. I have never had a home until I came here. I grew up here. Mrs Patmore taught me everything. As you did and Mr Carson.. About hard work and ambition and trust and about love. About _family_."

A tear runs down Elsie's cheek.

"Maybe you can have a family of your own, Daisy. If you know who... "

Daisy nods. Elsie can see the long journey Daisy has made from the day she first started as a scullery maid, sent straight from the workhouse. Timid, almost afraid of her own shadow. These days she is self-assured and much more confident Elsie could have hoped for.

"I'll tell him. He'll probably want to do the right thing."

"I hope so," Elsie says.

Daisy gets up from her chair. "You'll lose two of your staff, Mrs Hughes."

Elsie suppresses a sigh of relief, putting two and two together, then shrugs. "Let's not put the cart before the horse."

She gets up, too and guides Daisy to the door. She briefly puts her hand on the young woman's arm.

"Be careful," she says.

She then realises it's advice given a too late.

* * *

 **Saturday night**

They have enjoyed their sherry and talked about their days. Charles relayed the conversation he has had at the mobile library verbatim and Elsie has given him an abridged version of what happened at the house. She's conveniently left out her conversation with Daisy.

It's on the forefront of her mind. She wonders when she'll see the changes in Daisy. With Anna she had been so preoccupied with her own personal affairs (for the very first time something personal had taken all her attention to herself, her insecurities and her worries) to notice the signs. Of course black clothes are very forgiving. She has to tell herself that. Can't allow herself to think she had lapsed in her duties as Housekeeper.

"You're very quiet."

Elsie smiles at her husband.

"My first moments of peace of the day," she says by way of explanation.

"You look…"

"Yes?"

She can see him flush slightly. His cheeks pink up, making her bite her lip. She can tell what he is thinking when he doesn't answer her. When he colours like that. Her breath catches.

"Look… what, Charles?"

"Very pretty," he says after a few moments of silence.

It's Elsie's turn to blush. "Ach, go on with you," she says, unable to control her brogue.

"Very pretty," he repeats and he takes her hand. Kisses first the back then the palm. Without much thought, Elsie leans in against him, kissing his cheek.

"I've missed you today," she says.

His arm steals around her. She kisses his cheek again and then his mouth. His lips are soft and supple and move with hers. His hand runs up and down her arm.

"Upstairs?" he asks, his voice making her tremble with need.

He holds her hand as they move through the room, turning off lights and kissing. They are both well versed in the undressing of people and they have honed this art on one another. His knitted spencer is already lying on the floor and Elsie's blouse has been untucked from her skirt. Shoes are scattered around the room and she feels so small when pulled against him, but powerful knowing it is her who makes his breath hitch.

The stairs lead to the landing and there are two rooms there: a small bathroom (oh, luxury of luxuries) and their bedroom. Where their neatly-made bed resides. Where the eiderdown is turned down for the night and where the curtains need drawing.

Charles doesn't waste time making sure they won't be seen through the small windows that look out on the street. The night envelopes them, giving them the permission they somehow feel they need before baring themselves. Their kisses are heated and hungry. Elsie loves pushing his shirt off his shoulders and feeling the soft skin of his upper arms under her palms. She loves him undressing her equally. Feeling his fingertips dart along the edge of her corset, teasingly stroking the tops of her breasts as they are still confined.

She doesn't turn on the light on her night stand; there's no need. She can feel him coming towards her. She can hear him drop his trousers and the buckles of his suspenders hitting the floor. When he is right in front of her, she puts her arms around his torso. Lets her hand wander. His bottom is firm and soft at the same time. Ideal for a little kneading. He nips at her earlobe.

"Minx," he says, more breath than voice.

He presses her sides to undo the fastenings of her corset.

"Rogue," she whispers back.

There they are, in their unmentionables. She is in her muslin slip and cotton pants, he in his cotton vest and smalls. She can feel the heat radiate off his body. She reaches out for him, taking his hand, pulling him with her on the bed. He is beside her, his hands gentle and purposeful. Every touch of his is making her need him more. Every kiss spurs her on to move against him, delighting in his attentions.

She loves this part of their marriage. She loves making love to this man who can be gentle and forceful. Who listens to her, and who learns with every next time they try this unexpected joy. Charles doesn't give her much time to contemplate any more: he is pushing up the hem of her slip and skims the softness of her belly to cup her breast.

In one swift movement she is on top of him, only cotton separating them. She pulls her slip over her head, his hands steady her. He is so firm under her and she can feel the damp of her underwear against her skin.

"I want you," she says between shallow breaths.

He flips her then, takes off his vest and smalls and he is between her legs, solid and everything she never knew she missed until she married this beautiful, strong man. She can feel the slight shaking of his hand next to her on the pillow, but pays it little mind: he is in no pain and there's no danger he will hurt himself or her.

Carefully he removes the last barrier between them, stroking her legs. She wraps her legs around him and briefly checks if today is a good day.

It is. A very good day.

Together they move as one, sounds of happy connection fill the room. All her senses seem heightened: every touch, every sound, every breath there he is: her man. She pants as he rocks her and moans every time he changes the angle or when he changes their position altogether. They experiment: often exciting and successful, sometimes not so much, but tried with giggles or laughter. Tonight, everything is working out fine.

His hands are on her bum, his lips on a nipple. She grabs his hair, holding on as she is climbing that silvery, mercurial thread towards completion.

"Don't stop," she asks with a thin voice.

"Never," he answers and she believes him.

As they lie together, him fast asleep after his exertions, and Elsie wide awake, she thinks about Daisy. How she understands the moment to say 'no' is too fraught with emotion and sensation. That there must be few people able to stop when it gets to the best part. Would she have had such self control? Would she have been able to deny herself this pleasure time after time?

She puts her hands just under her navel. If she had been thirty years younger and if she would have been married to Charles then, she would have gladly carried Daisy's burden, she thinks.

But that isn't how this works. This stamp of shame and worry has been placed upon Daisy and her mistake. So as Elsie turns over, putting her hand on her husband's chest, caressing the sparse hair there, she decides to stand by Daisy.

No matter what she chooses to do.


	4. conversations

**Tuesday morning**

The kettle is always on the boil in a kitchen like Downton's. Anyone can request a cup of tea at any given time and there are biscuits in ample supply available for anyone who feels a need for one.

Elsie has been sampling both much more than she usually does. Her routine is suddenly dotted with quick visits to the kitchen to check in with Mrs Patmore and checking up on Daisy.

This morning however, tea is brought to her. A pot, four cups and saucers and a plate of ginger nuts are placed on an elegant tray. There are only two chairs in her parlour, so two have been hurriedly brought in from the Servants' Hall.

Elsie sits next to Mrs Patmore and across from them are Andrew and Daisy. Elsie braces herself, unprepared for the conversation to come.

Is she to look out for Daisy? Not with Beryl there. For Andy then perhaps. She can't imagine. No, she has the niggling suspicion that the couple will want her to run interference with Mr Barrow.

And probably with Mr Carson.

She doesn't worry about the latter. Her husband is predictable and she knows how to deal with his lashing out. Mr Barrow on the other hand is much more elusive.

Normally Elsie would say the new Butler wouldn't give a monkey. But she knows he likes Andy. She also knows how difficult it is to find good, well-trained, affordable staff. Over the years many concessions have been made, including allowing Mr Bates and Anna to marry and later to have their little boy share the nursery with the Crawley children.

However, Anna and Mr Bates had been married a while before Robbie came along. Daisy doesn't have the luxury of time. All four of them gathered in the parlour know that. All of them understand that time is of the essence and that quick action is needed.

Elsie picks up the teapot and pours with a steady hand. Steam swirls upwards from the cups. She watches the young people sitting across from her. Except they are not so very young anymore, both of them are steadily hurtling towards thirty.

When Elsie turned thirty, she was promoted to Head Housemaid in this very house. Charles was working hard and didn't hide his ambitions. He was the youngest Butler in the peerage when the time finally came.

Andy doesn't want a career in service. He is only here because it is a steady income and a roof over his head and food on the table three times a day. His heart isn't in it, but he is a quick study, willing and cheerful. He grew up in London and now he lives in Yorkshire, far away from the bustle, bad air and poverty of London. Elsie never checked his references, nor does she know much about him. Before (the time she wasn't married to Charles is always 'before', just like the time beyond the crushed velvet evening coat, flowers and vows will forever be 'after') she would sit at the Servants' Hall table in the evenings with some mending and she would chat to those working and living under her and Charles's care.

Would what happened to Daisy have happened if Elsie had been there to keep an eye out? She can only speculate. After all, Ethel had found time whilst the house was filled to bursting with convalescing military men. Besides: it's already happened and what she is to do now is figure out how to best help Daisy.

She hands out the tea, offers biscuits and sits back pensively, waiting for someone to start talking. To her great surprise it's Andrew.

"Mrs Hughes… I understand that you think I am a terrible person…" he starts. He is so nervous, his adam's apple bobs up and down almost comically.

"Let me stop you there," Elsie says, her voice as controlled as always. " I think the pair of you have made a mistake, obviously. But I don't think you are terrible. Either of you."

Daisy plucks at invisible lint on her skirt.

Mrs Patmore takes another biscuit. The sound of her chewing cuts through the silence. Elsie is starting to feel slightly annoyed that she is the one everybody is waiting on to fix things. Not that she minds, so much, but that they are all assuming that she will is rather vexing. Of course, she always used to fix scrapes and problems. Before.

"Well?" she asks, unwilling to do all the work by herself.

"I've asked Daisy to marry me," Andrew starts.

"No. No, you didn't ask me. You told me." There is fire in Daisy's voice.

"It's what we should do!" Andy responds, almost unperturbed. A good sign, Elsie thinks. He doesn't let Daisy steamroller all over him. Equally good that Daisy doesn't feel afraid to speak her mind.

"Even if it is, it would be nice to be asked. In a _nice_ way!"

Elsie turns to Mrs Patmore, who shrugs. "I've never been asked, don't look at me."

"But is it what you both want?" Elsie hears herself asking. As if there are other options.

"I love her," Andy says. He makes it sound so simple and Elsie's heart swells at the words.

"But you didn't say that to me. You didn't tell me that you love me. You only said that it would be best if we got married quickly. It's not the same."

"Would you want to marry Andrew?"

"'Course I would," Daisy says, as if Elsie is quite daft.

"Well," she starts, but can't think of a way to continue.

"We'll leave you two for a bit so Andy can get on one knee in private, then," Mrs Patmore says, brusquely, as is her wont.

Elsie doesn't hide her smile.

* * *

 **Tuesday afternoon**

"Do you think they are doing the right thing?" Beryl asks.

They are taking a turn around the house; they both need the fresh air.

"I don't know."

"I knew they were stepping out," Beryl says, her eyes strained on the horizon, "But I didn't think to chaperone them."

They fall into step with one another and Elsie links her arm through Beryl's. When they are outside, they can support one another in ways that aren't appropriate within the walls of Downton Abbey.

"It's not your fault," Elsie says in an effort to comfort her friend.

"I should have paid better attention to them. I knew they were falling in love."

"Did you?"

"You seem to forget that everybody seems to be pairing up in my kitchen or in the Servants' Hall. Mr Bates and Anna. You and Mr Carson."

"We were not that obvious!" Elsie interrupts.

"You were, but that isn't the point. I saw it all happening and I never thought to call Daisy in for a chat."

Elsie pats Beryl's arm with a gloved hand. "Those talks aren't easy," she says.

"No. They aren't."

They walk together, a little further from the house.

"It'll be strange. Not having Daisy around."

"You'll miss her," Elsie understands,

"I'm sure Mr Mason will take them in," Beryl says as she wipes a tear from the corner of her eye.

"He's been training both Daisy and Andrew to take over the farm. It will just be a little sooner than expected, I suppose," Elsie says. She tries to shake the feeling of dread and doom that loom large within her.

"It's all a little sooner than expected," Beryl volleys.

"At least they are fond of each other. They might have gotten married anyway."

"You're probably right," Beryl replies. "But somehow it doesn't feel as joyous and happy as I would have hoped for."


	5. truth will out

**Tuesday next, very late at night**

"Elsie?"

"Yes?"

"Isn't it a bit sudden?"

His voice booms in the darkness.

"We wouldn't want _them_ to wait until they were sixty, would we?" she replies quietly.

"I suppose not."

Elsie turns over to her other side, facing her husband. They'd gone up an hour ago, but she's been unable to relax enough to fall asleep. Her mind is on Daisy and on the worry she feels about the situation. She is aware, rationally, that everything is going to be alright. That everything is being done to ensure that Daisy and Andy will be able to have a long and happy life together.

"Still," Charles starts and he puts his arm around Elsie's waist.

"Still, what?"

"It is soon. I had no idea Andrew was ready to pop the question yet."

"You're not around the Servants' Hall every day anymore. Besides, Mrs Patmore knew."

Charles harrumps. "Mrs Patmore sees romance in two rolling pins lying next to each other."

Elsie bites her lip so as not to laugh. He has a point. "She says she saw us falling in love."

"She can't have done. We were being very discreet."

His fingers gently rub her side and it is warming her. These gentle caresses, not meant to seduce but to connect, they are what makes her feel safe. Wanted. Loved.

Does Daisy feel safe and cared for?

"Elsie?"

"Yes, Charles?"

"Do they _have_ to get married?"

For all the times he is not seeing what is right in front of him (like Lady Mary being an uppity minx, like Elsie loving him for so very long) he can be extremely perceptive and she doesn't want to lie to him. To tell half-truths to spare his feelings and her discomfort.

"Yes." The word is little more than a sigh. The sound of uncertainty and worry. Of honesty.

He pulls his arm away and it feels like a rejection. As if it is her fault this small disaster has happened and perhaps that is where the sense of dread stems from.

Because she agrees with him.

Charles switches on the light on his nightstand an scrambles up into a sitting position. Shadows dance across the room as he fusses with the sheet and eiderdown. He doesn't say anything, but Elsie knows that will only be a matter of moments.

So she waits.

"She is certain of her… erm… condition, I take it?"

Elsie pushes herself up on one elbow, feeling even more uncomfortable talking about Daisy's trouble to Charles than she did when she spoke to the girl about it. It's of such an intimate nature and it's so far from anything she's ever experienced herself.

"I suppose so," she replies, unable to look her husband in the eye.

"What does that mean?" he asks, always wanting to get to the bottom of things, to know everything.

"She told me and I have no reason to doubt her."

Charles clears his throat. "Sometimes girls say… things… I remember it, from when I was young."

Elsie thinks about this tidbit. Most of the time girls say they're in trouble because they are and more often than not, they're in a very difficult situation where very few people will believe them. This number far outweighs the girls who try to tie a man to them by faking it. She is a little taken aback by Charles making it sound as if he has personal knowledge of someone trying to get a ring of his on her finger.

"Do you?"

"Not me, mind. I never got close enough to a girl to be accused of dishonouring a lady."

Elsie smiles at him. "You're quite close now."

"But I would never have dreamed of dishonouring you. I am upset Andrew had so little self-discipline."

Elsie nods. "So am I. I am quite upset with both of them."

Charles takes her hand in his. His is so large, her smaller one almost disappears. With their palms pressed together, Elsie feels a little more whole. She really is upset. Not angry, but disappointed. Even though she understands how enjoyable it is to make love, she considers the young cook and footman to be foolish.

If only they would have waited. Daisy especially knows what happens when you let yourself be swept off your feet. She knew Ethel and she knew what happened to her. And had they not led by example, Beryl and Elsie and Charles? Had they not looked after them as best they possibly could? Had Elsie not always tried to make the Servants' Hall feel like a place for everyone to be together as a family, reflecting the Dining Room upstairs?

Her throat feels tight with emotion. As if the tears she can feel inside are being constricted. She squeezes Charles's hand.

"Good Lord, what a mess…" she whispers. "What are we going to do?"

It's much more dramatic than she intended, but the hushed outburst makes the tears start falling in earnest. The memory of Ethel is not so distant she can't remember the finer details. How she had turned Ethel away, how the girl appeared in the hall downstairs and how she dropped her bomb. The lying and deceiving, trying to help the poor, wretched creature stay out of the workhouse.

The bonny, little lad who she didn't allow herself to get attached to.

Perhaps that will be different this time around. She hopes it will be. That she'll get the chance to maybe… no. Stop, she tells herself. It doesn't do to hope for things you have no control over.

"He marries her. That's the most important part of it," Charles says and ELsie nods.

"Do you think perhaps they could take over the farm from Mr Mason?" Elsie asks, knowing that Charles does go out for a swift half from time to time, when she is late coming home from the House.

"Them taking over the tenancy?"

"Yes. Andy will need to work and he can't be a footman when he isn't living at the House. Mr Mason has been teaching him about the pigs and the running of the farm. Daisy knows everything about how to the finances for it. He wouldn't have to leave, he could live with them."

Charles turns to face her. "You think of everything," he says, admiration clear in his eyes.

"That's what I do," she answers.

"They are going to have to discuss this with Mr Mason themselves. Perhaps they are going to have to come clear about why they are in such a rush. I can't think Mr Mason will be best pleased to hear about it. He sees Daisy as his daughter."

"I know. I think Mrs Patmore feels the same way."

She nestles up against her husband and kisses his hand which is still holding on to her own. He lies down beside her and turns off the light. The room is flooded with darkness again. She can feel his chest going up and down with every breath.

She feels better now he knows. She closes her eyes and feels herself gently drift off to sleep.

* * *

 **Wednesday, tea time**

"Mr Mason got very upset," Mrs Patmore says, her face almost obscured completely by the steam coming off her mug of freshly brewed tea.

"I predicted he would," Elsie replies.

"It started out well enough. He was very pleased to see Daisy especially and he set Andy straight to work. I made him a nice cup of tea and I brought a few bits and bobs. You know. He doesn't get a lot of treats."

Elsie smiles. Mrs Patmore may have seen Charles and Elsie fall in love, but she is doing an appalling job hiding her affection for Mr Mason herself.

"We all sat down and I could see how tense Daisy was. She was white as a sheet. Then Andy asked for Daisy's hand in marriage, which is of course a bit late as they've already given notice at the Registry Office, but still. A lovely gesture.

Mr Mason seems thrilled. He says he wants nothing but happiness for the both of them. We toast them with tea - as far as you can. All lovely. Mr Mason, oblivious of course, asks when the wedding will be and Andy stammers that it's four weeks from now and I could see it all dawning on Mr Mason…"

The Cook grabs a shortbread finger and chews while shaking her head.

"Poor man. He was so shocked."

"Mr Carson worked it out for himself last night," Elsie interjects.

"Bet he wasn't best pleased either," Beryl assumes.

"Disappointed, I think the word is."

"We're all disappointed!" Beryl responds, quite loudly. "Mr Mason is going to need some time to adjust. I will go and see him tomorrow. He might like to talk to someone."

Elsie nods in agreement. The cook can be spared for a bit if Daisy is around. "How is Daisy?"

"She cried. That quiet, pitiful cry she used to do when she just arrived here. A little hopeless. But I tried telling her it will all be alright in the end. It's just that people need to get used to a change. Changing isn't so easy once you're more mature."

"Some changes are easier to adjust to than others."

They both drink their tea, processing the latest events. Elsie considers taking another biscuit, but is interrupted by an alarming thought:

"You are going to have to train a new Kitchen Maid."

The groan Beryl lets go off seems to come from as deep as her toes and Elsie cannot help but laugh.


	6. a shock

**Monday**

"Good morning, Mrs Hughes," Lady Grantham looks up from some papers she's been studying on the sofa.

"Good morning, Milady." Elsie stands in front of her Ladyship and awaits instructions the way she's done for decades. The relationship she has with the Countess is one of mutual respect. They forged it as they were both learning to navigate their new places in life. One of them trying to merge from wealthy socialite into an entry in Burke's Peerage, the other simply having climbed the ladder to land at the final sport.

They've helped one another over the years: Lady Grantham's easy offer to look after Elsie when she feared she might die is something etched firmly in Elsie's brain. Something she remembers to herself when she's having a hard day. Elsie knows it's because of her qualities as a Housekeeper Downton Abbey is known as a good house. A house where you want to be invited. Where you know your bed is turned down before you go up after having enjoyed a scrumptious luncheon or dinner, your luncheon or dinner.

"Anything I need to be aware of?" Lady Grantham asks and Elsie can't help but incline her head, shrug and sigh at the same time.

"Oh, dear. I best brace myself, don't I?"

Perhaps another reason Elsie likes her employer is because she has a sense of humour. Probably needs one as well with the husband she's chosen and an eldest daughter who manages to make everything into a contest.

"Andy has proposed to Daisy, M'lady. They're getting married in a couple of weeks." Elsie leaves the words to land, not pressing the matter. She watches Lady Grantham process the news - her upper lip not as stiff as Lady Rosamund's might be.

"That's a bit much for a Monday morning…" she finally says.

"I know, Milady. But I thought I should tell you. You could advertise in The Lady. I'm aware of how difficult it is to get reliable staff these days."

"We both know it's just about impossible. A Kitchen Maid might be found, but a Footman? Well. I'm sure you've heard the stories from other Housekeepers."

Elsie nods. She doesn't need the tales from other Housekeepers to recall a time when she managed up to thirty young girls, now she has to make do with five. Mrs Patmore only has Daisy to rely on. And them upstairs (forever them upstairs in her mind, no matter how loyal she's been all these years, no matter how much she likes them - or at least: some of them) expect the same service and care they always had to privilege to receive.

"Both at the same time. And no Carson…"

No Carson. Elsie misses him dearly, much more than she lets on at home. She doesn't want him to feel more miserable than he already does. He hides it well, but not good enough. She loves him for it.

"I know, M'lady. It's very…"

She falls quiet. Doesn't want to say more.

"What, Mrs Hughes?" Lady Grantham frowns. "What's wrong?"

Elsie lets out a breath, not quite a scoff, not quite a sigh. "Nothing really. Just… life, I suppose. With all the changes, there's a lot of worry."

"Young people will always give you worry, Mrs Hughes."

Elsie wets her lip before speaking: "Before the War, they all came to Downton and we trained them up, they stayed a year or two and they would leave. But with the staff we have now - I've known Daisy since she was eleven years old…"

"I quite understand. You do get attached, no matter how you try. I felt the same way with Miss Marigold."

"That turned out to be… well. I won't embarrass you…"

"You always know everything that goes on in this house, don't you, Mrs Hughes?"

"Not always by choice, Milady." Elsie suddenly feels quite tired and she furtively rubs her forehead, trying to chase away the headache she can feel building.

"Something not alright about Daisy and Andrew getting married, Mrs Hughes?"

Is it age that is making her tear up so easily? Is it the overwhelming changes that have come to Downton? She doesn't know, but there's a tear running down her cheek, followed by another and then the tears are accompanied by a sob.

Gracious, how undignified. She can feel the heat rising from her chest, over her neck. Shame colours her cheeks.

"I'm very sorry, Milady, I'll… erm… I'll come back later. I apologise." She knows she is rambling, knows it's quite possible that it is making matters worse.

"No, no, Mrs Hughes. Please. Sit down. Sit." Lady Grantham is on her feet and offers a chair. Elsie looks around, checks before sitting, as if she'd miss the wretched thing to round off a perfectly awful morning.

"I'm sorry," she says again and she presses her handkerchief to her eyes and her nose.

"Whatever can be the matter?" Lady Grantham is really quite concerned and that's what makes Elsie pull herself together.

"Look at me, carrying on. I'm alright now. I shouldn't be sitting down."

"Is it that bad, Mrs Hughes?"

"It's not ideal. Let's put it like that."

"I see."

The two women sit in silence for a moment. Countess and Housekeeper - reflections of the other. In similar worries over young women in their care.

"Andrew seems a very nice young man," her Ladyship says and Elsie nods.

"He is. And I'm sure they'll be fine. They'll move in with Mr Mason, at Home Farm."

"Mr Mason will be pleased to have some young people around," Lady Grantham offers.

"Once he gets over the shock. I am sure they'll all live quite happily together. Mrs Patmore is already going there this afternoon. She'll butter him up with some pastries."

 _And she is going to be having something that I did not know I wanted until it was staring me in the face._ Luckily she manages to keep that little tidbit to herself. Goodness, where does _that_ come from?

"You have a lot on your mind, Mrs Hughes. And so do I. We're both being forced into directions we're just going to have to accept…"

Elsie nods and takes the remark to be her dismissal from their weekly talk. Any luncheons and dinners will be discussed a day in advance. It will keep them all on their toes.

 **Monday evening**

"Thank you for dinner," he says and he tops up her wine. She's had two glasses and a half already, but she doesn't mind. She just hopes it won't meddle with her intention to keep her sentimental thoughts to herself.

"Thank you for… everything," she replies.

"Everything? That seems a tad excessive." He smiles, picks up some plates, moves them to the sink.

"Not really. It's just that _other_ people married and lived full lives. That was never for the likes of me. Of you, I daresay. But here we are."

"You don't often come home in such philosophical mood. Are you alright?" He sits down again, takes her hand in his. She doesn't care about the trembling, only revels in the warmth. In the sweet care it shows.

"Charles?" She pauses, tries to think before she speaks, tries to be wise about her words. Elsie Hughes is a composed person. Someone you turn to in a crisis; who will always know what to do and who will lead instead of panic. Elsie isn't sure of Elsie Carson is the same.

Marriage has changed her. As if suddenly all the emotions she was so used to cutting short and hiding away have been unlocked. She is finding it terribly inconvenient. Almost as if she isn't herself anymore.

"Yes, dear?" He has let go of her hand and has picked up his wine glass.

"With Andy and Daisy set up at the farm, it would mean Mrs Patmore has to train a new girl. And it is almost impossible to find a Footman these days. Lady Grantham was very worried about it."

"I could write to some of my acquaintances," Charles suggests after a sip and Elsie smiles. It's not what she means, but then again: she wasn't very clear.

"There's a chance they're going to have to let go of the House, Charles."

The glass shatters on the tiles; wine runs in little streams through the grouting. Looking at the shards of glass and the pained expression on her husband's face, Elsie wonders which will be restored to normality again first: Charles's peace of mind or the kitchen floor.


	7. scrimping and saving

**Midnight**

"I didn't want to worry you before I was more certain," she says, still trying to soothe her husband's frayed nerves.

"But you are certain now?" he asks, a little hurt.

"They have been talking about letting go of the house since the auction. His Lordship was very shaken by that and not only because Daisy had flown off the handle."

"She should have known better," he harrumphs.

"Yes, but she was doing it because she felt strongly Mr Mason deserved better. Which came from a place of respect and love. It's what a good daughter would do for her father."

Outside she can hear the noises of a country night. The wind playing with the leaves in the trees, a lonely owl hooting in the distance.

"I can't believe Lady Mary will put Downton Abbey up for sale," Charles says and Elsie reaches out to him, taking his hand in hers.

"There's no telling what she'll do these days. Mr Talbot didn't bring any money in. With him out of the picture, she's left to fend for herself and she has her children to think about. She might like to move to Grantham House; start afresh."

She can feel her husband's hand trembling. Shaking, almost. It's a bit much for him and she should have broached the subject with more care. Normally she would have, but she's not been feeling herself, either.

"Where do you think they'll go?"

"I think they'll be occupying Crawley House, in the village. It's close to old Lady Grantham and they would still be part of village life. They can manage with Thomas and Miss Baxter and find a new cook."

"You don't have to dismiss Mrs Patmore for them!"

Elsie smiles.

"I'm not, but I know Beryl will want to spend more time with Daisy at the farm, especially when the baby comes."

Another jolt of envy pierces Elsie's mind and she pushes it firmly away. She doesn't begrudge Beryl this happiness in the slightest and Elsie is very happy for her that her best friend - her only friend - will be having something so precious and special in her life.

"You've got it all figured out." Charles sounds a little sullen. Displeased.

"I usually have," she says, squeezing his hand.

"But you are forgetting one thing," he says and Elsie frowns.

"What have I forgotten?"

"That you'll no longer be Housekeeper for the Earl and Countess of Grantham. That there might be a chance we can't stay here in the cottage. That the pension I have been provided with, will be withdrawn."

Ah. He is going as fast as she did when she first thought the family might sell up.

"If your pension is withdrawn, we know there's still your savings and since Becky passed away, I have been saving up all my wages, so there's a little to live on. We can go to the house on Brouncker Road, or we can sell it and buy something small and cheerful."

She turns on her side, inching closer to Charles and she lays her head on his shoulder.

"And I don't mind not being Housekeeper to an Earl if it means I can be your wife all of the time."

HIs arm wraps around her and he kisses her forehead.

"I still don't like it," he says and Elsie rubs his tummy over the cotton of his pyjama top.

"I know. It means a great change. But we have been getting used to change ever since Mr Patrick went down on the Titanic. Our lives have never been static."

She works loose the buttons of his top. Gently caresses the soft skin of his side.

"Try to get some sleep," she says and kisses his cheek. "Tomorrow is another day."

* * *

 **Friday, 11:00**

Elsie pinches the bridge of her nose and rubs her forehead. She's not slept well the past few nights. Charles needs constant reassuring things will be alright. And she is still trying to deal with her emotions, which is not something she enjoys very much. Last time she'd been plagued by uncertainty and bad dreams was when she'd found that lump in her breast. And later when Anna had been attacked by Mr Green. She'll never be free of the guilt she feels about that. Her dreams are invaded by flashbacks to finding Thomas in the tub, blood everywhere. Of Ethel selling her body. Of Tom crying in the Library after the ordeal with Edna.

Sometimes it feels as if she's done nothing right during her time as Housekeeper.

That's the lack of sleep speaking. It's the overwhelming feelings she normally always manages to ignore. Rationally she knows it really isn't all that bad. She has tried to support Anna where she could - even if over time more and more distance had come between them.

It's why she'll never have what Beryl will in a few months. Why she stood in the pew watching the baptism of the little lad, instead of standing by the font. She didn't give it much thought, then. She gives it a lot of thought now - that she never managed to bond with any of the maids to let them be part of her life. To be a part of theirs.

She'll be lonely once the family moves out - to Crawley House, or to the house near Eryholme, which is big enough to house Lady Mary, Mr Branson and the children, too.

It will be very quiet.

She sighs and returns to her ledger. The expenses have risen steadily over the years. She's been doing some serious acrobatics with her budget for months and she's proud she's been able to manage so well without having to ask Lady Grantham for additional funds. Sadly she can't postpone that for much longer: even her magic has its limits.

There's a knock on her door and then the cheerful face of Beryl.

"I've come to have a cup of tea with you, if you're not too busy," she says and brings in a tray.

"I was going over the accounts," Elsie says and Beryl rolls her eyes.

"That's not the most joyous way to pass the time," she quips and Elsie smiles.

"I'm grateful for the diversion. How are you?"

Beryl sits down and pours the tea before answering.

"I'll admit that I'm getting a bit bored. There's not been a dinner parties in ages and there's not been guests for luncheon for two weeks. Honestly, how am I supposed to keep busy with only four people to cook for upstairs and three in the nursery and the staff's dinner?"

"I remember when we had barely a guest room free and we had to scramble to get the linens turned over."

"We're getting as sentimental as Mr Carson," Beryl says and Elsie laughs.

"We are!" Elsie picks up her tea and drinks.

"Do you think it's a sign of things to come," Beryl asks.

"I do."

"I was afraid of that. Well. Can't say I'm very surprised. There's not a lot of big houses being able to survive in these modern times."

"I know," Elsie sighs and sips more of her tea.

"Oh, cheer up. It's not the end of the world!" Beryl tries to buck her up.

"Oh, I know. But I've had to tell Mr Carson and he's not taken it so well."

"He wouldn't. But you'll soon sort him out. I've no doubt. And then you can both be free to do as you please. It'll be nice."

"You've nice things to look forward to," Elsie says and she hopes she manages to keep the envy from her voice.

"I do. The wedding first and then the baby."

Beryl looks happy and Elsie wants her to be. She is glad she can be pleased for her friend, even though she wants a bit of what her friend will be having.

"Did I tell you Andy asked Thomas to be his witness?" Beryl adds.

"I didn't. That's very nice of him."

"Hmm. Another sign of change. Mr Barrow being friendly and kind to the others on staff."

Beryl makes light of it, but Elsie knows it's important. Proof that he is learning. Maturing in a way.

"Life alters us, as it should," she replies.

"It does. Nothing in life stays the same. From grand houses like these to our figures," Beryl laughs and gives Elsie a wink.

"You are in an exceedingly good mood, but I am off to her Ladyship to tell her I need more money for the household expenses and I'm fairly dreading it."

"Oh. Yes. That does put a dampener on things."

In hindsight it wasn't so much a dampener as it was the final straw.


	8. a greater shock

**Friday, three o'clock**

Robert Crawley looks like he is going to vomit and Lady Grantham has obviously been crying. And there they all are - Thomas, Beryl, Daisy, Andy, Miss Baxter and herself - standing in the Great Hall, waiting to be addressed by Lord Grantham. Elsie knows what is coming and she is aware that both Beryl and Thomas are, too. Miss Baxter is probably already well-informed. Lady's Maids usually are. They are valued for their sense of discretion. For their ability to keep secrets. Miss Baxter is a gentle woman and Elsie is very fond of her.

She can hear Thomas's laboured breathing. Beryl has taken Daisy's hand in hers. Miss Baxter's eyes are firmly fixed on the floor. Elsie feels as if she's in a mystery novel and that Lord Grantham can come out any minute with 'I've called you all in here to name the murderer'. She bites her lip to prevent a giggle from breaking free.

"You must all wonder why we've asked you to come up," Lord Grantham starts. None of the staff answer. Obviously they wonder why they have been summoned up - their employer has always been a great one for rhetorics. He clears his throat nervously and Lady Grantham sidles up next to him, standing half behind him, almost propping him up.

"You all have noticed that… ahem… well. That things aren't the way they used to be. We haven't been entertaining much, especially after Mr Talbot left. Lady Mary has decided to move to Grantham House and take the children with her. With only the two of us and Mr Branson here, it's just…" He swallows and Elsie knows he is trying not to cry. He always was a sentimental man; much like Charles.

Lady Grantham steps forward and takes over from her husband, putting her hand on his arm and giving him a sad smile.

"We're going to have to let go of Downton Abbey," she says. Her American accent sliding over the vowels and dragging them out.

"We'll be moving into Crawley House. Mr Branson and Miss Sybbie will come with us. The house is large enough and it's close to Lady Grantham in the Dower House."

She moves her hand in an empty gesture, indicating her little speech is over. Elsie feels the panic rising between the members of staff. She takes a bold step forward.

"If I might ask, Milord, Milady: is this our official notice?"

Lady Grantham shakes her head. "Not really. We would like to take some of you with us to Crawley House. Mr Barrow, obviously and Baxter. Mrs Patmore if she fancies it. We know Andrew and Daisy will be leaving in a week and that they'll be happy at Yew Tree Farm. We have thought about the tenancy as well and we'd like to discuss that with them both and Mr Mason at their earliest convenience."

"Thank you, Milady," Thomas says, relieve obvious in his voice.

"Thank you," Miss Baxter echoes. She probably already knew what was going on. Knew that she would be alright.

Andy and Daisy are murmuring their thanks as well and Mrs Patmore is wiping away a tear with a corner of her apron. Elsie just stands there, a step in front of the others and her name hasn't fallen yet.

"We are very sorry," Lady Grantham says and turns around. Together Lord and Lady Grantham leave the Great Hall and the staff disperses.

Elsie feels rooted to the spot. She feels as if her corset has suddenly been tightened too much. There's a cold sweat drenching her chemise.

"Mrs Hughes?"

She doesn't know who the voice belongs to, can barely make out her name, that it's her they mean.

"Mrs Hughes!"

* * *

 **Friday, three thirty**

"Honestly, there's no need to fuss so," Elsie says, but her voice sounds very weak.

"You stay right where you are and wait until Doctor Clarkson has seen to you!" It's Beryl and her tone brooks no argument.

"Doctor Clarkson will have actual patients to tend to." Elsie gives it a try anyway.

Beryl totally ignores Elsie. "I've sent Andy to get Mr Carson."

"Oh no… why did you - you know what he's like."

"Because he is your husband, you daft bat, that's why!" Beryl takes Elsie's hand in hers, sitting precariously on the edge of the sofa she's pushed Elsie down on.

Charles will have a fit when he finds his wife lying down on that bright red sofa in the Library. To be frank with herself, Elsie has always thought that particular piece of furniture would have been very much at home in a tart's boudoir.

But it's very comfortable. Her corset is still digging into her, but she can breathe again and she's not sweaty at all now, except for the palm that's pressed against her friends'.

She does feel extraordinarily tired though, comparable to that time she worried about the lump in her breast. That turned out to be nothing serious. Doctor Clarkson will think her a right nuisance.

"Beryl, please. I'm quite alright. What if her Ladyship finds me here?"

"She knows you are here. Miss Baxter told her. It's all fine. Really, you are the worst.." Beryl is losing her patience.

Lying in the quiet room, Elsie smells the wood polish, the blue powder used on the crystals of the chandeliers. She hears the ticking of the clock and the sound of the green baize door opening and closing.

The tell-tale footsteps of her husband.

Elsie scrambles into a sitting position, finding out she's been divested of her shoes only then. Beryl gets up as well, but Charles doesn't have eyes for his friend. Elsie watches him as glides towards her with great strides - his tweeds and brown shoes a contrast to all those times he entered the Library in his tails.

"Elsie?"

She claps her hand for her mouth, trying to stop the sobs that are bursting from her.

He wraps her in his arms and she cries against his shirt, standing on the Turkish carpet in her stockinged feet.

* * *

 **Friday. four o'clock**

"Dr Clarkson…" Thomas doesn't finish his announcement - probably a mix of not finding either his Lordship or her Ladyship in the room and seeing Mrs Hughes weeping.

The doctor walks past Thomas and Elsie pushes herself away from her husband, still hiccoughing. She searches for her handkerchief and can't find it. Mr Carson, ever the gentleman, hands her his. Elsie dabs at her face, unable to stop the tears from flowing.

"I don't know…" Charles starts and he is as uncomfortable about his crying wife as he is about her crying in the library, with half the staff watching. Mr Barrow is hovering by the door, Beryl is standing idly by, as shocked as Thomas.

"Allow me," Dr Clarkson says and he has Elsie's wrist between cool fingers to take her pulse. He speaks quietly.

"Will you tell me what's happened?" His Scottish accent is very thick and Elsie wonders if it is because he almost whispers or because he thinks it will help her feel more at ease.

"I don't rightly know," she manages to say, her tears stopping.

"We've just had some bad news," Beryl says, unprompted.

"What's that?" Charles bellows, setting Elsie off again.

"I'm sorry to hear it." Dr Clarkson remains calm. He's obviously had to breach a lot of bad news and isn't as alarmed as others might be.

"Yes… the family is… well. Anyway. They addressed all of us - Thomas, I mean, Mr Barrow and Mrs Patmore. Miss Baxter and Andrew and Daisy… but… they... "

"Oh my God!" Beryl exclaims, "I didn't even notice! They've not said anything to you!"

Elsie shakes her head slowly, staring at the floor. It's so silly carrying on like this. She has been so out of sorts for a few weeks now. Even before Beryl came to her with the news of Daisy's trouble. She wishes Thomas and Beryl would leave… it's unpleasant discussing your health with everybody present. Luckily the doctor feels much the same way. He sends them both off with a few choice words and turns to Elsie again.

"Mrs Carson, please try to tell me what happened," Dr Clarkson cuts through Elsie's unsettling thoughts.

"Everyone was leaving the Great Hall and I found I just couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. My heart… it... " She doesn't want to worry Charles, doesn't want to say that it felt like it was pounding, that she felt like it cracked her ribs.

"Does it hurt now?"

"No. I just feel very silly. Really, Mrs Patmore shouldn't have telephoned you"

Dr Clarkson takes a step back and looks at her. His eyes are running up and down her body, scanning her arms, her face.

"You've lost some weight," he then says.

"Aye, I suppose so. But it's not like I couldn't afford it," she replies, thinking how Lady Grantham can't go out in a brisk breeze without being blown over.

"You look very tired, Mrs Carson." Dr Clarkson looks more worried than Elsie cares for.

"Dr Clarkson, you know my job is one full of responsibilities, more now I only have two maids. It's all hands to the pump. You know Lady Grantham has certain standards and they are to be met."

"Is that why you've been going in early?" Charles asks, as quietly as he can.

"Yes."

"You've been doing the work of two maids as well as your own?!" He sounds outraged all of the sudden.

"And there's the cottage." Elsie can't look Charles in the eye, knowing he'll blame himself not giving her more consideration.

Dr Clarkson shrugs. "I'm sure Mr Carson can lend a hand there. Simple tasks, like doing the washing up so you can have a bit of a sitdown."

Charles tries to speak, but Dr Clarkson overrides him: "But it would be better if you were to take off work, Mrs Carson. You are obviously overtired. I'm surprised nobody noticed it before."

Elsie smiles, her tears finally dried. "I didn't notice myself."

"You'll be fine. If your heart bothers you again, I need you to come into the surgery to have it looked at, but I don't think it will." He taps his head and walks away. "Don't bother ringing for Barrow, I know my way!"

* * *

 **A/N:** For me it was clear from chapter 3 that Mrs Hughes wasn't alright - so I hope you've not been too shocked by this turn of events


	9. apologies made too late

**Friday, around five o'clock**

They've spoken little since they've come downstairs. Charles has promised to do the dishes when they have dinner at the cottage, to which she didn't respond, except for laying her head against his shoulder. She is small in his arms, curled up on his lap, held tenderly.

There's a knock on the door and it opens ajar.

"Mrs Hughes? May I come in?"

Elsie jumps up from Charles's lap and touches her hair. She is not as tidy as she would like, but it can't be helped. Charles stands up and offers his chair.

"What did Dr Clarkson say?" Lady Grantham asks, stepping further inside and Elsie tries to smile, finding she is suddenly unable to pretend that she is anything but fine.

"He said Mrs Carson is a little overtired," Charles offers and Elsie's heart swells with love for him. The ease with which he acknowledges her as his wife and the gentleness in his eyes when he looks at her are a tonic to her.

"That's our fault." Lady Grantham looks pained.

"Mrs Hugh… Carson. We've been careless earlier, when we announced we're… well. His Lordship had a statement prepared, but he couldn't manage. And I jumped in, you know, when I told you we're going to Crawley House once the sale is finalised and everything is taken care of."

"Doesn't Lady Merton want to come home, Milady?" Charles asks and Elsie is glad he does, as she has wondered about that herself.

"Lord and Lady Merton are building a new house, halfway between the village and the Dower House; according to Lady Grantham it's going to be a modern monstrosity. They'll be in France while it's being built. They have asked Mr Branson to oversee the building."

Everyone is falling on their feet then, Elsie thinks. Except Charles and me.

"Mrs Hughes, you've been part of Downton for a very long time. I know of many ladies who wanted to poach you from us, but you always remained loyal. Between you and Carson, you've always made every dinner, every party and every shoot into a great success. We are indebted to you and after discussing it with Lady Mary and Mr Branson, we've decided to give you and Carson the cottage in your names."

Elsie frowns and Charles repeats: "The cottage?"

"Of course you'll also receive a generous pension. Both of you. You see, we can't take you to Crawley House with us. We'll have Barrow to perform his basic duties and Baxter as well until Molesley finally comes around to pop the question." Lady Grantham smiles and catches Elsie's eye.

"Milady, would you be able to stay at Downton if you didn't give us the house? If I just resigned?" Elsie asks.

"I'm afraid not, Mrs Hughes. The decision was made by Lady Mary. She feels it is best to leave now we can still salvage most of what we care about most. We'll be very comfortably off, so please don't worry about us."

Elsie can't bear to look at Charles. She knows it is going to be hard on him. Much harder than it is on her. She is just glad she isn't cast out. That they're provided for in their old age and she is grateful. There are many women in her position unable to make ends meet; unable to keep a roof over their heads and becoming burdens to their families.

Not that she has any family besides Charles. And they would have had somewhere to go, with the house on Brouncker Road. With Charles's savings and investments and her creative bookkeeping, they would not be reduced to destitution anytime soon. But still.

"I don't know what to say, Milady," Elsie starts.

"We know you'll miss Downton Abbey as much as we will. Lord Grantham has always said he wanted to haunt these halls."

"Mr Carson said much the same," Elsie admits. She glances at her husband. His expression is that of an Englishman trying not to cry. "But I hope they'll both wait a little while before giving that a go."

"I hope so, too," Lady Grantham says, but Elsie can tell she worries.

Charles has started to get used to not being at Downton every hour of the day. They can't even see the Abbey from the cottage, which is probably a great aide in letting go. Charles has tried to find some alternative pastimes to decanting wines and berating Footmen. He's been trying his hand at gardening and he has a library card. He takes long walks, trying to keep strong. They've discussed maybe getting a little dog to keep him company.

Besides that, with her not having to go to work, they can be what they were supposed to be a good few months ago:

newlyweds.

And Lord Grantham will still be a patron of the hospital, the captain of the cricket team and he'll have his grandchildren to dote upon. He'll still be asked to go up to Scotland for the grouse.

"They'll need some time, Milady," Elsie tries to reassure Lady Grantham. "But they'll be alright."

* * *

 **Friday, before bedtime**

"It's the worst for Lady Mary," Charles says as he dries the plate Elsie has just handed him.

"How so?"

"Her whole life she's been given the roll of future custodian of Downton Abbey, never free to pursue any interest she might have had and now she still has to give it up."

He puts the plate in the cupboard and takes the next. Elsie looks at him, her hands still in the soapy water, cleaning their few knives and forks.

"Maybe she can still pursue some of those interests," she says. She has no idea what could interest Lady Mary aside from running Downton. She has a real head for business, Elsie has to admit it.

"She might want to take Mr Talbots share in the automobile enterprise he set up with Mr Branson," she offers.

"That's not a proper occupation for a _lady_ ," Charles immediately says and Elsie leans her head against his arm for just a moment.

"Lady Mary will always surprise. And she will be alright. She is a Crawley."

Charles turns to her and kisses her squarely on the lips.

"Goodness!" Elsie is very surprised by this sudden show of affection.

"Can't a husband kiss his wife, when he wants to?"

Elsie blushes. "He can… of course he can…" she stammers, happy to know she still knows how to ease some of Charles's pain.

* * *

 **Saturday, after breakfast**

"But what will you do with your own house?" Beryl asks, not at all shocked by the generous gift of the Crawley-family.

"I don't know. We could sell it, I suppose." Elsie's woken a few times during the night, thinking about what they're to do with their newly renovated house, how to manage the move of the Crawley's, how to make sure Daisy doesn't do any of the heavy lifting when it is time to make place for the new owners.

"That would be a shame. You've had so much work done to make it habitable. It's in a lovely spot: close to the village and the bus stops almost in front of it." Beryl is definitely steering the conversation into the direction of B&B's.

"Mr Carson and I don't want to look after any boarders and we don't want to run a B&B. We've worked long enough and hard enough." Elsie stops and thinks for a moment. "It is far too big for just the pair of us. We'd be rattling around like two marbles in a tin."

"There might be people who would like to run it for you? You know. Like tenants or something."

Elsie is glad for the little bridge and she crosses it immediately: "Has Mr Mason spoken to His Lordship?"

Beryl shakes her head. "No. I think they've made an appointment for Monday. Lady Mary said she wanted to be there. It's going to be a nerve-wrecking week - Mr Mason being thrown out of Yew Tree Farm after he'd already lost his old farm and the wedding on Thursday."

Beryl's voice goes up and up in tone as she speaks. She is upset and nervous and Elsie does't blame her.

"I doubt they will throw him out. We don't know whom they are selling to and we don't know any of the terms of the contract. Knowing Lord Grantham, he'll feel a sense of obligation to his tenants. Daisy has worked for the family since she was barely old enough to sit the eleven plus test. Not that she had the opportunity, but you know what I mean."

"She'd excel at that test now. But she doesn't have a talent for teaching. She isn't the most patient of girls."

Elsie bites her lip, trying not to laugh as that assessment.

"They'll be running the farm now. She'll have her hands full, looking after Mr Mason and Andy and the baby."

Beryl shrugs. "That's what I hope. It's not a lot of work, cooking for three and maybe a farmhand or two. If the tenancy is safe **.** She'll be bored."

"Babies take up a lot of time," Elsie says.

"Not that I know a lot about them, but by observing the few I've come across I can tell you that they mostly sleep, feed and need changing. It's not the maths problems she enjoyed, or the comparing of historical events."

"No. It's not. But it's… it's…"

Elsie can't find the words. She knows having a baby isn't like having a career in academia and she knows that some women do find motherhood draining and boring. Still - it might be wonderful for Daisy and for Andy. Like it is for Anna and Mr Bates.

"Only a few days until the wedding. I'll be glad when that's behind us and no mistake," Beryl prattles on and Elsie is glad her lack of eloquence on the matter of babies goes unnoticed.

"It will be nice, seeing them tying the knot," Elsie says even if she isn't sure yet if she is going to go to the Registry Office. She isn't sure she can be missed the whole day. Mr Barrow is standing as Andy's witness, so he has to be in Ripon. Mrs Patmore is witness for Daisy. Daisy and Andy won't be around for obvious reasons. Miss Baxter is dressing the bride. Only Elsie doesn't have a specific part to play, so she could just go on to the celebration Mr Mason has planned at Yew Tree Farm.

She sighs and rubs her forehead.

Perhaps being forced into retirement is the only way to have a moment's peace, she thinks and returns her attention to Mrs Patmore, who is giving a very thorough list of dainties they can expect to celebrate the young couple with after they cut the cake.


	10. not her wedding day

**Not her wedding day**

The wedding party is conversing excitedly in the Registry Office waiting room. Mrs Patmore is wearing a new hat and the men are all their Sunday suits. Elsie is wearing her Sunday best as well and she is looking at Daisy who has been coiffed, dressed and made up by Miss Baxter.

She is looking very pretty and what's more: she is looking very happy. Beryl can be pleased that in the dress Daisy is wearing not even the faintest hint can be seen as to why the pair is rushing to the altar.

By figure of speech.

Elsie sits next to Charles, happy Lady Grantham had invited the family over for lunch at the Dower House. Mr Barrow - forever Thomas is Elsie's mind - and she will be back at the house in time to serve tea. She is allowed to enjoy the moment and to let Charles hold her hand.

Every wedding since their own has been accompanied by little routines and traditions of their own making. Holding hands, almost voiceless whispered affirmations when the questions are asked.

Today is no different and it strengthens Elsie to know her husband still loves her. That he wants her to be with him and that he wants to look after her in the ways he can, even if the certainties of their lives are crumbling.

The Registrar is a kind man who is pleasantly surprised to see so many people there to watch the bride and groom tie the knot. He takes his time, emphasises the solemn words of the oath. He hands Daisy the pen first and Elsie watches her sign the register. A tear runs down her cheek and she furtively brushes it away.

From the corner of her eye, she sees Mr Mason hand Beryl a neatly folded handkerchief. He must have brought one specially for the wedding. Ironed and all. He's a very thoughtful man, kind and caring. Beryl would be lucky to accept him, were their slow courtship to progress along those lines.

Mr Molesley is watching the young pair with unadulterated joy. He's been so unlucky for so long, but with his teaching job came confidence. With confidence came more luck. His own little house, a calling he enjoys and new friends. And an old friend who is as dedicated to him as he is to her.

Everybody is pairing up and finding a home outside a life of service.

Everyone except Thomas.

Elsie knows it would be very difficult for Thomas to find someone to share his life with. With so many people finding him 'twisted' and 'sick', there is very little chance of being free. Allowing someone to get close can be dangerous, Elsie understands that. She just wishes he could.

She watches him sign the register as Andy's witness and Elsie hopes that at least Thomas has found some sense of belonging. That he doesn't have to fight the entire world any longer. Even with the Crawleys downsizing, his position is still that of Butler to the Earl and when they go to London for the Season, he will still be the one to organise everything from the packing to the journey to the running of the London house.

Though - was Lady Mary really planning on going to live in London? Elsie can't truly believe that. Nor can she believe that the family will be happy at Crawley House. But she can't be thinking about any of that today. Or at least not now: Daisy and Andy are married and they're to be congratulated. There's hands to be shaken and happy wishes to be conveyed.

"Mr and Mrs Parker," Charles says as he shakes Andy's hand first. "Many congratulations."

"Thank you, Mr Carson," Andy replies with a big smile.

"Congratulations, Daisy," Elsie says and kisses the girl on both cheeks, careful not to get her hat tangled in Daisy's veil. "You look very beautiful."

"Thank you, Mrs Carson. I'm glad you think so. I wasn't so sure about the dress and it being white and everything."

"You'll be happy about it when you get the photographs back. Besides, nobody needs to know if they don't already."

"Ahem," Charles clears his throat as a clear indication he wants to congratulate the bride. Elsie watches him shake hands with Daisy. Daisy is so tiny standing next to him and Elsie is reminded of that time Charles walked Daisy to William.

Is Daisy thinking about William today? She must be. Elsie remembers him as a gentle boy with a strong sense of what's right and wrong. He was thoughtful and hopeful and she had felt his loss so strongly. Months passed before she could say his name without a lump forming in her throat.

From beside her she can faintly hear Daisy thank Charles for his congratulations. Elsie takes a deep breath and turns to her husband.

"There's a cake to be cut at Yew Tree Farm and I have a sneaking suspicion that won't be the only treat."

He smiles and nods. "Mr Mason is taking Andrew and Daisy in the truck and I've checked: the bus is going in ten minutes."

"You do think of everything, don't you?"

He takes her hand and places it in the crook of his arm. He gives her another half-smile and says: "As if you don't know that time table by heart."

* * *

 **Not her wedding breakfast**

"Wait just a second, Daisy," Mr Molesley says as he sets up the camera he has borrowed from Mr Dawes. Daisy holds the knife just over the beautifully crafted cake. Beryl is looking at the newlyweds from behind the table, tears in her eyes. Andy stands behind Daisy, his hand on her shoulder.

They look very natural together. Very much at ease.

They'll be alright, Elsie thinks to herself, when finally the knife sinks through the marzipan. They get along and they aren't afraid to speak their minds. He's a bit younger than she is, but that's not of great importance. She glances at the clock. It's almost time for her to walk back to the Abbey. It's a short walk, some twenty minutes if she doesn't dawdle.

Charles is talking to Thomas. Seemingly about work. They look very serious and she can tell by the straightness of their backs and the frowns on their faces that each word they say is being weighed before it's being spoken. It can't be about anything but the sell of the house. About the changes that are about to come. About the loss of standing for Thomas - because it is something that demands respect: being Butler to an Earl and Countess in their country estate. It's not so grand when he serves tea in a small drawing room in a villa.

"So what do you think?" It's Beryl, who has taken her hat off and is holding a cup of tea.

"Lovely," Elsie replies and she means it.

"There are worse ways to start out, I suppose," Beryl continues and Elsie can tell her friend is in high spirits.

"Much worse," Elsie agrees.

"I'm a little sorry Lady Grantham wasn't there. Daisy hasn't said anything, but I know. she is a little disappointed"

Elsie shrugs. "I'm sure they would have come had they gotten married in church. And there weren't any written invitations."

Excuses Elsie conjures up to make Beryl and Daisy feel better. To try and prevent the absence of them upstairs to cast a shadow on the party.

"Do you think they're upset their assistant cook has to get married?" Beryl's whispered worry makes Elsie feel oddly protective of her friend.

"I doubt it ( _she doubts they give it any much thought at all, really_ ) and if they do: that's on them. Andy and Daisy will be very happy here at the farm and Mr Mason is there to keep an eye on them and we'll… you'll pop in when you can to help out if it turns out they need it. Truly: it's going to be fine."

She kisses the Cook's cheek. "But now I must go, because we can't have Lord and Lady Grantham boil their own kettle."

"Indeed not, that would be a topsy turvy world of misrule."

It's Charles, of course, who else?

"I've spoken to Mr Barrow about it, and if you'll allow me to accompany you, I'll stand in for him this one time."

He is standing very straight and he barely looks at her, daft man. "That would be lovely, taking a stroll with my husband, before having to conform to the rules again."

Beryl laughs. "Be off with you two lovebirds," she says and almost pushes them out of the room, while Elsie waves at the party.

She glances through the door after Charles has helped her into her coat. There's Beryl, talking to Daisy, her fingers brushing Daisy's tummy. Elsie bites her lip and chastises herself. She's not much better than Lot's wife.

* * *

 **Not her wedding night**

They are propped up against the headboard, each with their own book. His an old favourite, hers a new detective story. She enjoys them, enjoys seeing the world as a puzzle that needs solving. Her own life right now feels like a jigsaw that's fallen on the floor. All the pieces are still there, but they're in a right mess.

The afternoon had been one of the oddest she'd ever had. Charles upstairs, serving the family after she made the tea and prepared the trays with the food Beryl had made in advance. She had seen Charles's hand tremble with the weight of the silver tray and tea service and listened to him tell her about the discussion he had walked in on.

"Lady Mary doesn't want to live in Crawley House," he told her and Elsie hadn't said anything.

"She says it's impractical with the children as there isn't a day nursery."

Elsie had laughed at that, thinking that most children growing up didn't have the luxury of even a night nursery. That most children would be lucky to have a bedroom they had to share with only their siblings.

"I thought she was moving to London with Master George and Master Robert?" she had asked.

"Apparently she wants to make an effort to 'patch things up' with Mr Talbot," Charles had replied, his voice full of disdain.

"You don't approve?"

"I don't approve of men running away from their responsibilities."

She had wrapped her arms around him and kissed him.

But now they are here in bed and she can sense how tired Charles is. He's had a very full day with the wedding and the little party at the farm and then serving tea. He's not used to it anymore and Elsie is glad he has been taking those long walks to keep fit. He's gaining on seventy and she wants him with her for a long time to come.

Her hand holds down the page of the book. She's been lingering on it for a long time, having read the first line four times already. She doesn't want to think about Charles not being there with her. She doesn't want to think about how she'll be all alone in the world then.

"Go to sleep," Charles mumbles. She's not even noticed he'd put his book down. Being preoccupied with her own thoughts doesn't suit her. It makes her miss things.

"I will. Sorry. I didn't mean to keep you up."

" 's Alright. I'm just a bit tired, that's all. Been a busy day."

Elsie smiles to herself.

"Very busy. Sleep, my man." She lays down her book on the nightstand and leans over her husband. She kisses his cheek.

"I love you."


	11. a letter

**Friday next**

"Elsie? There's a letter for you. I put it on the desk."

Elsie is taking off her hat and coat after a long day discussing the plans for moving out with Lady Grantham, even though there has been no date set, nor any hint dropped as to who has taken on Downton Abbey. Elsie knows it is going to be easy for her: she'll fill an orange box with the last of her possessions - photographs displayed in her Parlour, a biscuit tin, maybe the first ledger she started when she was appointed Housekeeper. If Lady Grantham allows it. Servants don't accumulate many personal belongings. Elsie's are in the cottage, as are Charles's.

"I've put the kettle on," she hears him call from their drawing room.

"That's lovely. I could do with a nice cup of tea. Who's the letter from?" She has taken off her shoes and massages her toes, standing on one leg, holding on to the wall with one hand. Her feet aren't dealing with long days standing and walking around the way they used to. Or perhaps she just needs new shoes.

"I think it's from Anna," he says, turning towards her from where he stands by the stove.

The way his face lights up when he sees her will always make Elsie's heart skip a beat. Coming _home_ is so much more than she ever could have dreamed of. She picks up the letter from their shared desk and walks over to Charles to kisses him on the cheek.

"Did you have a good day?" she asks and sits down on her deep, stuffed chair, stretching her feet out to the fire.

"I did. Walked down to Yew Tree Farm, had a cup of tea, asked how Mr Mason is doing with the newlyweds setting up house under his roof."

"That was nice of you. How is he?"

The whistle goes and Charles gets up quickly to take it off the hob. He talks about how Mr Mason is already used to having a cooked breakfast every day as well as a hearty evening meal and the voices of young people when he comes down in the morning. That it's nice and as far as he knows there's been no discontent.

The comforting sounds of the water being poured in the kettle, the gentle rattling of the cups and saucers and the cupboard opening and closing are all helping Elsie relax. There's so much joy in the routines they've set up for themselves: not so different from the ones they shared when they were both still working. There's less wine of course, sometimes a sherry on a brisk autumn evening. But it's enough. Sometimes it is perfect. She's worried that her being around every day, all day, will upset that happy routine. That it will turn things sour.

For now she is taken care of and she is cherishing it. The cup of tea, made exactly the way she likes it. The biscuit on the saucer, ready to dunk when Charles is not looking (not that he isn't aware she does is, of course he is, but he never mentions it, even though Elsie knows he doesn't think it proper.)

She fiddles with the envelope in hand. It's indeed from Anna. Not seeing her every day has been difficult. Elsie was always so used to having her around, even after she married and when she was carrying the little lad. Elsie misses Anna, but she never says so in her letters. She can't. She doesn't want to put guilt on anyone for trying to find a better life. To follow dreams and aspire to lives outside of service.

When the back of the envelope finally gives, Elsie pulls out several sheets of stationary, all written in Anna's particular slanting handwriting. She puts the envelope on the low table next to her teacup and starts to read.

"Dear Mrs Carson,

Thank you for your letter, so filled with news and questions. I hope you are well despite the news of the house having to be sold. Lady Mary is very upset about losing Downton to the National Trust, but said in her letter of last week that she rather sells it to the National Trust than to a parvenue who made his money from weapons during the war.

I know you are worried about spending more time at home, but you and Mr Carson are used to spending most of your days together. You won't be working, of course, but maybe you can find a common interest. I know for certain that he will be very pleased to have you with him. Not having to wake with the chickens will also be delightful, that is something I can vouch for, even if there are few mornings I get the chance.

A silly thing happened yesterday when Mr Bates and I received some news and I went in search of you to tell it. How downcast I was when I realised you weren't there. I don't think I will ever get used to being so far away from you. I miss Downton and the village and my friends there. Of course I have Mr Bates and our boy with me at all times, but it's not the same. We have been talking about looking for a different place, a little closer to Ripon and Thirsk. Mr Bates doesn't say it, but I know his leg is bothering him, as is his back these days. "

"Your tea is getting cold," Charles interrupts.

"Oh. Yes. Thank you." She picks up her cup. It's indeed cold and stewed but she doesn't mind. She thinks about what she's read so far - that Anna misses her. That there is news she had wanted to share.

That Downton Abbey is sold to the National Trust. Elsie's first reaction to that is that she is happy that the house will be looked after the way it should. Preservation is what's they're about and that will cushion the blow somewhat for the family. And for Charles.

"Anything new with Anna and Mr Bates?"

"I don't know yet. I've not finished the letter." She holds up the sheets.

"I'll… ahem… I'll, eh… leave you to it."

Elsie smiles. "I will read the rest later. Let's have your delicious tea first."

 **Friday night**

Elsie has taken Anna's letter with her and she is reading it in bed while Charles is in the bathroom, cleaning his teeth.

"When Mr Carson worked himself into a state over maids in the Dining Room, he could never have known that a life in service would become a rarity. It's very difficult to even get some girls in from the village who will do things to my standards. They accuse me of being too hard a taskmaster. I suppose I am, but I like things done properly. I get that from you, I think. You taught me that every job that needs done, needs to be done well.

Funny how this week especially I'm reminded of you. Mr Bates asked my why I plump the cushions on the sofa the way I do and I told him it's because that's the way you told me to do it. Where other wives say their mother showed them how, I say 'Mrs Hughes' - because that's who you were then.

Daisy sent me a postcard asking us if we'd like to come over for the wedding, but we didn't have enough time to get someone to look after the hotel. We did send a telegram, so you don't have to worry we've been remiss in our attentions.

Young master Bates also wants my attention now, he wants his milk and crusts, so I'm ending this novel.

Ever yours,

Affectionately,

Anna "

Elsie softly smiles. She can hear Anna's teasing about the telegram and her level-headed advice about finding something to do after retirement.

She carefully folds the sheets of paper and puts them back in the envelope. Elsie wonders what the news was Anna had wanted to share. Poor Mr Bates, his knee was always cause for worry. It's been years since the Boer War and they can do so much these days. Maybe a new doctor can make a difference.

"Am I safe in asking what the news is from Mrs Bates?" Charles asks as he gets into bed.

"You are. For one: Mr Bates isn't feeling well; his leg is bothering him."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Charles is making himself comfortable.

"Anna says they are thinking about looking elsewhere to buy. Maybe this house has steep stairs or uneven floors," Elsie adds. She places the envelope in the drawer of her nightstand.

"I suppose people can be very demanding in hotels," Charles says and he pulls the eiderdown up to his chin.

"Comparable to the demands of the houseguests we were used to," Elsie responds, thinking about Lady Anstruther. She scoots down and turns so she is cuddled up against her husband. She the little spoon, he the big one. They always start the night that way, but she rarely falls asleep cozied up against him. She needs to be able to move freely. It's why her side of the eiderdown isn't tucked in between the mattress and the bedframe.

"We always dealt with the more demanding guests admirably," Charles says. She can feel his breath in her hair. His arm around her waist.

"We did what was expected of us."

"And we did it well."

Elsie smiles and puts her hand on his as it lies on her belly. She loves how Charles is so matter-of-fact about their accomplishments. Not a hint of false modesty shines through in his voice.

She thinks back to the times they've lived through together. How they both started in service when Queen Victoria was crowned Empress of India; how they climbed the ranks through faraway wars in South Africa, the Boxer Rebellion and the Great War. The world changed at an alarming rate since the War, but many things remain the same.

Charles's steadfast loyalty to the Crawley family, her inability to completely shake her Scots accent. The sound of leather on wood when the batsman hits the ball. The love they feel for one another.

A few days ago Elsie had felt a panic rising deep within her chest. A deep-rooted alarm that she would be all alone if Charles would die before her. But now she has read Anna's letter and she remembers the way Thomas - Mr Barrow - always treats her courteously and with great respect. That she was there to see Daisy and Andy be married and that she speaks with Beryl daily, no longer about the ordering of stores but about private things.

She isn't alone. She just feels a shaking in the ground she walks on. She wraps her hand so Charles is holding hers now. It's Elsie who needs a hand to feel steady. His hand is heavy and unwilling to cooperate. The tremor is barely noticeable as Charles drifts off to sleep.

Elie nestles and finds the perfect spot. Tomorrow is another day.


	12. heartache

**Tuesday afternoon**

Her head hurts. It's more than a passing headache - one you can soothe with a glass of water and a powder. It's settled behind her eyes. She can barely make out the writing in her ledgers and on the bills she has received. She's been working on them for hours and she has left her room unlit. The sharpness of the electric light would only aggravate her headache. She puts her pen down on the desk and presses her hands against her face.

This morning had been the start of a very tiring and difficult day. The people from the National Trust arrived earlier than expected and Lady Mary had not been available yet. Lord Grantham had showed them around the house, but there were still girls straightening some of the bedrooms.

According to her Ladyship, Lord Grantham had been quite upset. Elsie doesn't understand why: the housekeeping routine has not changed since… she can't even remember. Only when the house was turned into a convalescent home for wounded officers did she have to change that routine.

When Lady Mary arrived - on the dot, not a minute earlier - for her appointment, it turned out one of the committee wouldn't eat tomatoes, which was what the luncheon's main dish consisted of. Telling Mrs Patmore that she had to quickly think something different up was not one of Elsie's greatest joys of the day.

Beryl had not been best pleased, but there was something else, too. Something under the surface. It kept niggling Elsie throughout the day. She hasn't seen much of Beryl the past three or four weeks. She's off to the farm a lot of the time and comes back with tales of how Daisy is getting on. Elsie finds it difficult to smile through the chatter - not because she doesn't want Daisy to be well, of course she does. But because it keeps stinging. It keeps hurting, no matter how she fights it.

Elsie's forehead feels hot; her eyes feel even warmer. It's because she's not slept well. When she was cleaning her teeth Charles asked her why she doesn't want to retire. Why she doesn't want to be home with him. His voice had been too light to be casual. Deliberately offhand. As if he didn't even expect an answer. Elsie had stood in the bathroom, her bare feet on the cold tiles and her face had looked back at her from the mirror.

Her mind had gone as quick as it could, finding the right answer before he could notice the moment's delay in her response. She had said that he was being silly. That she _does_ want to be with him, how could he possibly think otherwise.

But he had put his finger on the sore spot.

Because if she isn't a Housekeeper, what is she? She is Charles Carson's wife, but he isn't Butler to the Earl of Grantham anymore. Together they would be two very ordinary pensioners. Which would be fine - but neither of them have ever been used to leisure. Never more than a few hours. A half day, here and there. Three days for their honeymoon - one day had been eaten away by the ceremony and wedding celebrations and another half day by the train. The remaining day they had spent learning how to get past worry and embarrassment. How to share a blanket. How to fit together. How to sleep wrapped around another person, experiencing the scent and sense of feeling someone's skin against their own.

Elsie wants to be with Charles, but she doesn't know how she is supposed to spend her days. How to occupy herself. How to keep herself from thinking about all those things she has been trying to stave off with hard work. There's been security in the routines of the house and she always felt great pride in organising garden parties and house parties.

She never needed more than to feel accomplished and respected. Then she had to so gradually fall in love with this gentle, dear man. Charles has stirred things in her that she is increasingly unable to deal with. Feelings and thoughts and perhaps even hopes she had buried so deeply, it needed a shock to remind her of them.

Elsie had felt those feelings being stirred a little when Anna told her and Charles there was a little one on the way, but she had been so preoccupied with the adjustments her life needed. Marriage proved to be a steep learning curve; she barely had time to keep her work organised.

Being occupied had prevented her thoughts of what might have been, of jealousy and profound sadness spiralling out of control.

Like they are now.

Her head's pounding now. Elsie opens her drawer and pulls out another sachet of headache powder. She rips it open and sprinkles the contents straight on her tongue. She picks up her teacup and drinks the last, cold tea, swirling it with the bitter, acrid powder. _The worse it tastes, the better it must be for you_ , she thinks.

She straightens her shoulders and takes a deep breath. She has work to do and she is not going to slack off now she knows her retirement is coming nearer and nearer. Every job you do is worth doing well - Anna had said that in her letter and Elsie truly believes in it. Besides: idleness is the devil's workshop.

Elsie bends over her ledger and picks up her pen again. Just as she is starting to focus again, there's a knock on her door. Of course there's a knock when you're just getting back into the fray. She scoffs and slowly shakes her head, almost in amusement.

"Yes?"

The door opens and it's Beryl. She doesn't have a tray with her. Not even a mug or a biscuit tin. She's already taken off her apron. She comes in without being invited and closes the door behind her in silence. Elsie is irritated by her friend's movements. The lack of acknowledgment; the way Beryl pulls back a chair and sits.

"What is it?" Elsie asks, barely able to keep the annoyance from her voice.

"We need to talk," Beryl says evenly, unperturbed by Elsie's raised eyebrow.

"I did say I was sorry about the tomatoes," Elsie says, steeling herself for a fight about a luncheon few people will remember in a year's time.

"It's not about the tomatoes. That's just them upstairs being inconsiderate. There's very little you could've done about it," Beryl replies, before continuing with a brutal attack:

"I feel like you've been avoiding me. And what's more: so does Daisy and it's hurt her feelings."

Elsie feels an unbecoming blush rise from her neck up to her cheeks. Blotchy marks that reveal her shame. The aftertaste of the Beecham's powder is being magnified by her trying to swallow away the dryness in her mouth.

Beryl nods. "Well, at least you don't deny it." She raps a little rhythm on the table with her fingers, obviously waiting for an answer.

Elsie appreciates Beryl coming straight out with it. But she feels that if she opens her mouth, a flood of words and tears will drown the pair of them. She needs time to control what she'll say. To push her emotions into a framework where she can be detached from them.

But Beryl doesn't grant her time. "I'd like an explanation," she says and Elsie can't do anything but stare helplessly at her friend.

Beryl pushes further: "Daisy doesn't understand why you've not once asked after her, or how she and Andy are getting on together. Mr Mason has asked if you or Mr Carson are ill because you've not accepted any of their invitations to visit them on Sunday after church. You've always been so encouraging of Daisy and now you're not bothering with her at all. Nor are you speaking to me about anything besides work. I thought we were friends and if I didn't know you better, I'd be forced to think you're jealous."

Elsie presses her hand against her mouth, urging it all to stay in. She is shaking and the tears can't be stopped. They roll down her cheeks, dripping down on her arm as she's wrapped it around her corset-clad chest in fruitless comfort.

"Oh, my God," Beryl exclaims and she gets up from her chair, taking the five short strides towards Elsie and reaches out. Elsie can't take her hand. She can't do anything except trying to regain her composure. When Beryl stands beside her and gently puts her hand on her hair and nudges her head against her, that river of pain she was afraid of comes rolling out.

"I _am_ jealous," she confesses between sobs. "I hate myself for it. It's not fair on anyone. But I am. I'm jealous of what you have with Daisy and what you'll be having soon. Of Daisy herself. I'm jealous of Mr Mason because of what Charles will never have. I've been so upset, even before the wedding. In a while they'll force us all to retire and they'll get a girl in from the village, the people of the Trust, I mean and the family will move away and they'll get new staff there and you'll be a grandmother and I'll be… just an old woman." She hears herself rambling, her voice muffled by Beryl's dress, but she can't contain it. Another thing she dislikes about herself these days: her inability to control herself anymore. More words keep falling from her mouth.

"Charles asked me why I don't want to be at home with him and it's so unfair because I do want to be with him but I don't want him to finally figure out what a dull, boring person I'll be when I no longer have anything to do and I have nightmares every night about his disappointment and the inevitable emptiness and there's this aching longing that just won't be stilled whatever I do and I have tried so hard to get past it and then it just seemed better to stay away because I am just a horrible friend and I don't know why anyone would bother with me... "

Her tears have dried. Her mind feels numb. She's said it all - everything she's been thinking and the feelings she's been having. All those things she couldn't share with Charles because… well. Because he's a man.

Beryl hands Elsie her handkerchief. There are little orange blossoms embroidered on the fabric. The stitches are a little uneven, as if they're done by a young girl. Perhaps they were. ELsie gently dabs at her cheeks.

"I understand," Beryl then says. "I was jealous of you. Of how you realised you had fallen in love. Then that he asked you and there was your wedding to consider. I felt a little left behind."

Elsie looks up at her friend. "I never meant to hurt you," she says. "It was all… very… quaint."

Beryl chuckles. "That it was. But it passed. Because I saw how happy you were and also that it wasn't always without tension in the love nest. And neither of you really changed. Perhaps you both got a little softer 'round the edges, but nothing… fundamental. You know?"

Elsie gives Beryl a watery smile.

"Sounds like you have been thinking yourself into a frazzle," Beryl concludes.

"There's things I've been thinking about that I've not thought of in fifty years. I thought I had made my peace with the things I thought I'd never have. But seeing you… with Daisy… it's… I don't know. It stirs something in me and it makes me jealous and it makes me so deeply sad."

Beryl turns to pick up the chair and sits down opposite Elsie.

"Have you told Mr Carson about this?" she asks and Elsie shakes her head.

"No. How can I? It's not him who's to blame for how I can't keep a tight lid on everything I've formerly successfully managed to ignore."

Elsie watches Beryl. She is struck by how well she looks. How calm and content. There's almost nothing of the agitation and aggression in the Cook left.

"He probably doesn't understand why you aren't your usual self around him."

"No. I suppose he doesn't."

Beryl sighs, slightly exasperated. "Don't you think you owe it to him? That this is part of marriage? That this is perhaps falling under one of those categories - for better or worse?"

"I don't know. It feels… almost too personal. It comes too close. I can't believe I told _you_." Elsie really can't believe she has told Beryl about this. Then again, she was trapped into doing so. She'd kept it bottled up so long and it had started to ferment and then Beryl made a hole in the lid. Almost as if it's not Elsie's fault for sharing.

"Have you never talked about it? Together?" Beryl asks in disbelief.

"About what?"

"Babies, you daft plum!" Now Beryl really is exasperated with her friend.

"No."

They've never discussed babies. She'd been flustered about them… well. That side of things. Coming together as man and wife - with my body I thee worship. And with the possibility to conceive long gone, Elsie never even considered the topic with her husband.

"I think you should. I have with Bill*."

Elsie bites her lip to refrain from smiling too widely. "Have you?"

"Yes, well. Inevitable when you see your girl blooming. He's been very kind about it."

"I'm sure he has been. He's a very kind man."

Seeing the roses in Beryl's cheeks makes Elsie feel something she hasn't for a long time: joy in someone else's happiness. Perhaps Beryl is right. Maybe she should talk to Charles about it. Get over herself.

"Tonight," she says, deciding, making herself accountable for it. "I'll talk to him tonight."

 **A/N:** Sorry it took forever for me to write the next installment. I needed to fight with some demons.  
I know Elsie is being extremely emotional in this fic and I know that's not how most of us (including me, hence the fighting) see Elsie. I hope you'll accompany me on this flight of fancy, though and don't hate the choices I've made in this fic. I wanted to explain a lot about those choices in this A/N, but I won't - questions/PMs are obviously welcome and I always respond to reviews

*Bill. Because I can't think of him as Albert. Soz.


	13. confessing

**Tuesday evening**

Her outburst weighs heavily on her the rest of her workday. She keeps thinking how life in service used to be, about how both Beryl and Elsie were taught to keep their hearts armour-plated. They learned to never let anyone come close. But over time they have found out there will always be little holes in the iron that let the light in. Cracks that let the love out. Elsie has the evidence of this in her bed every night. Beryl will be holding it in her arms soon.

Before her friend left that afternoon, Elsie had emphasised how happy she is Beryl will be a grandmother soon and how wonderful it is for her to have that role at the farm. That she doesn't begrudge her this happiness in the slightest.

"You just wished you could have it, too," Beryl had concluded and she had taken Elsie's hand in hers squeezed it gently. "You know Daisy would really like you to visit, don't you?"

"I hope she'll forgive me for shutting her out."

Beryl had laughed at that. "She'll be happy to see you, don't you worry about that. You and Mr Carson come over for Sunday lunch; Mr Barrow and Miss Baxter can keep this raft afloat."

Knowing Charles would appreciate drowning a yorkie in gravy - he's not had a proper roast since he's retired - she had accepted the invitation. Beryl left Elsie to her own devices after that.

* * *

During her walk back to the cottage Elsie kept thinking about everything she had told Beryl. She was happy to have gotten it off her chest, even if she did still feel moderately ashamed. She breathes a little easier now Beryl knows, but she is apprehensive about telling her husband everything she has discussed with her friend earlier. He might not understand, not at the fundamental level Beryl does. Women understand that because of their limited choices, the decisions they make have consequences that can still be felt many decades later. To be safe means to choose either marriage or a life in service. There was nursing, for those who could stomach it and the mills. Nothing much else to keep a girl from the workhouse.

Elsie had decided she was going to go into service; she was going to try and get as far as possible with it. Even if Joe was half-heartedly courting her.

Joe Burns had been a very nice man, but he had not swept her off her feet and she had not wanted to live her life on a farm. She was young, not twenty yet and already her apron and cap were decorated with lace. Her laundry was being sent out. Her prospects were very good. Being a maid seemed a far better choice than marrying a farmer. She wouldn't have to mop up the dirt that would constantly plague the floors or cook cheap and plain meals for a man who wouldn't appreciate them.

She had chosen ambition over the weather controlling her earnings. Now, forty-odd years later she can't remember if she even considered having a family with Joe. If she had given the possibility of having children a thought.

Probably not.

She has arrived at the cottage and she pushes open the front door and steps inside.

"Only me," she calls as she puts down her basket and takes off her hat. Charles appears in the doorway.

"There's half a roast chicken in the basket," Elsie says. "And two iced buns for a treat."

"Good evening," he replies with a smile. He steps towards her and helps her with her coat. She kisses him.

"Have you had a good day?" she asks.

He takes the basket and she follows him into the kitchen. She watches him as he unpacks the basket.

"Nothing very exciting," he starts and puts the chicken in the oven. "Been to the library. Had a swift half at the pub about an hour ago. Received a letter from Mr Bates."

"From Mr Bates? Is everything alright?"

Charles turns to Elsie. "He asked me for some advice." He raises his eyebrows. "Why shouldn't everything be alright?"

Elsie shrugs. "No reason. Just… he doesn't write to you very often and Anna told me that they had a bit of news. So I… well. Never mind. I best set the table."

She takes the tablecloth from the drawer and lays it neatly on top of their kitchen table. She smoothes out the wrinkles from where it's been ironed. She takes the plates from the rack, pulls the cutlery from the drawer. As she puts everything down, she wonders why Mr Bates would write to Charles for advice.

Just as she is about to ask her husband, he opens the oven door and the smell of roast chicken wafts through the room. Only then Elsie notices her stomach is growling. She missed tea at work, preferring to stay in her Parlour, trying to make sense of her ledger and of her feelings.

"Sit down," Charles says, "I'll take it to the table and carve."

She watches him as he carefully takes the tray over to the table and sets it down neatly on the cork coasters Elsie laid out. He is looking very handsome. Well-rested and tan. He smiles at her before picking up the knife and gets started on picking apart the bird.

Very domestic. Just two middle-aged people in their cottage, having their evening meal together. Something Elsie never thought she would have - especially after Becky's care had to be increased. But here she is. With her loving husband.

He makes a plate for her and she takes it from him. His hand barely shakes at all. Elsie knows that tomorrow it will. That what she will discuss with him tonight will change things between them. It will disturb their delicate balance and she doesn't like it. She's never liked an atmosphere.

"How was your day?" Charles asks and she is a little startled by it.

"A party from the National Trust arrived early and we had to rethink their luncheon," Elsie says.

"Arriving early is very bad manners. Lady Mary can't have liked that," Charles replies.

Elsie smiles. Of course his mind would go to Lady Mary first. "She wasn't there to greet them. His Lordship showed them around the house."

"Do you know why they were there?"

"Not really. They came to see Lady Mary in her capacity as the steward. But neither Mr Barrow nor Andrew have said anything about it. "

"We'll have to wait and see," Charles says, sounding as much the Butler as he did when he was still serving.

Elsie nods. There's nothing else they can do.

* * *

 **Tuesday night**

"Charles?"

"Hmm.."

"Are you asleep?"

She knows he isn't. He is as wide awake as she is. She can tell. There's so much she has learned about Charles over the past year. She knows how his breathing evens out just before he drifts off. How his body radiates heat the first hour he's asleep. She knows he can move mountains on five hours of sleep, but that he is worthless when he's had less.

"No." His voice sounds clear in the dark room and Elsie braces herself as he turns on the electric light on his side of the bed.

"We've been having a difficult few weeks, haven't we," she says, trying to ease herself into the conversation, blinking to get used to the sudden brightness. Charles turns over towards her.

"I know it's because I've been an old curmudgeon, as you put it. And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…"

"That's not it," Elsie breaks into his train of thought.

"Isn't it?" he says, genuinely surprised.

Elsie shakes her head, as far as it's possible when lying in bed. She touches his cheek. "No. It's me.."

"Do you… ahem… want to… erm… tell me about it?" Charles gently coaxes and Elsie loves him so much for it. She hates that she has to go through with it now she's made an overture.

"You see, that's part of it. I don't particularly _want_ to tell you about it, but I do _need_ to."

"You are worrying me. Are you ill? Because if that is the case, you do need to tell me." Charles's tone brooks no argument. Elsie shakes her head again.

"No. I'm well enough for an old woman. I might creak a bit, but I'm not ill."

"You are not old and you do not creak," Charles gallantly offers. Elsie smiles at him. _Dear, sweet man_ , she thinks, _my shoulder cracks continuously and my skin…_ But she hasn't time to indulge in loving thoughts about her husband. She needs to tell him about everything that's been bothering him now she has plucked up courage.

"Remember when I asked you if you had ever wanted to go another way? Have a wife and children? It was before the war, so…"

"I remember," he says and he reaches out to touch her cheek. His fingertips feel warm and tender. He moves his hand to her hip, steadying her.

"I said that sometimes I did. And that's true. I think most people think about how different their lives might have been if they had taken a different path," she continues.

"I suppose so."

Elsie watches Charles closely. She sees how his hair is graying more and more. There are little wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. Some from worrying, some, she hopes, from smiling. She loves him so much, it hurts sometimes.

"I've been thinking about barely anything else lately," she says.

Charles frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Since I learned about Daisy's… situation… I've not been able to shake this feeling… there's been this emptiness inside me." She bites down on her lip.

"What emptiness?" He sounds bewildered.

"Before that happened, I didn't regret the choices I've made in life," Elsie whispers, "But now Beryl goes out a few times a week to help Daisy and she tells me about the little crib Mr Mason has taken down from the attic."

Elsie puts her hand on Charles's. "Mr Mason is courting Beryl so gently and she calls him by his first name. They talk about how their lives will change once the baby arrives. They'll have that experience to share and a baby to dote on… I've been so jealous of both of them…"

Confessing it to Charles is so much harder than it was to Beryl. Finding the right words is difficult. She wants him to understand what she means, even if she doesn't completely understand it herself.

"In a few weeks I'll be forced to retire. And then… I'll just be… an ornamental wife. I'll not bring anything to you, to our life together. I'll be useless."

"You will not be ornamental," he says, his voice thick. "You'll never be useless to me."

He kisses her lips.

"But I'll be nobody. You will always be Mr Carson, from Downton Abbey. Everyone in the village knows you and they respect you. You're being asked for committees all the time. I'll be a burden to you."

"You will not be a burden, Elsie!" Charles sounds very determined. "I love you. You are my _wife_. You don't have to be any more."

"And is that enough? For you, perhaps it is. But for me? I am worried I won't know what to do with myself. Read the papers and go to the library, that sounds very nice, but it's only a short part of your day."

She turns to her back. Charles scoots a little closer.

"The cottage needs to look tidy and you're never satisfied with how I do it," he says, and Elsie can tell he is trying to lighten the mood.

"That's true."

"When Beryl retires, she'll have everyone at the farm to look after. She'll be a part of her own family and I… I'm jealous of it. I am jealous that my only friend will have something that I'll never have part in. When we go to church and we see Mr Mason together with Andy and Daisy and there's her round little bump I can't breathe."

Elsie has been very proud that she's kept it together so far, but tears are starting to slide down her temples and into her hair.

"I know it's silly. I know it is. I have always known we'll never have that and it didn't matter, because it's the choices we've made and the opportunities we've had… But now I can't stop thinking about how different my life would have been if we had found each other earlier. When there was still a chance we would… "

"Have a family of our own," Charles finishes Elsie's sentence when she can't go on.

She nods, unable to look him in the eye.

He strokes her cheek, and pulls her closer to him. There's a loaded hesitation before he starts speaking:

"I've always told myself that it's useless to have regrets and that it doesn't do to dwell on things you cannot change. We've found love too late," he says and Elsie stifles a sob. Charles leans in to wipe away a tear.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs.

"I'm sorry too," Charles answers and he he kisses her, his hands cradling her face and she reaches for him, feeling the stubble coming in.

They hold on to cheeks and hands and they kiss as if it can take away the pain - because he may not have said it in so many words, Elsie feels he shares some of her grief. She can taste the salt of her tears and the peppermint of their toothpaste on their tongues.

Charles's hand leaves her cheek and pulls at her nightgown insistently and she lets him. He unveils her unceremoniously, with quick, almost rough movements. He doesn't hurt her - indeed not. She is being swept up in it. The urgency. The need to make it all alright again. To make them whole in that one way they've never had with anyone else.

The eiderdown slips to the floor and Elsie lies naked on the crumpled sheets, her body illuminated by Charles's bedside lamp. He kneels between her legs and he leans over, kissing her hip, the hills and valleys of where her ribs are behind that protective layer of skin and flesh. He licks the underside of her breast with the tip of his tongue. His hand is on the gentle curve of her belly under her navel.

Her fingers grasp Charles's hair as his hand slides down from her lower belly into the sparse pubic hair of her vulva. His fingers open her up, gently, softy, the way she likes him to. Her eyes close and she is panting as he touches her. Her plaintive moans echo in the room; her lower back rises off the mattress. Just before she is about to shatter, he settles over her. She wraps herself around him, welcoming him inside. He sighs, with pleasure or relief, Elsie can't tell. They move together, the way they have learned this past year, but spurred on by quiet sorrow about things that will never be.

There's pleasure and comfort. His skin against hers, his breath whispering over her hair. The scent of him and how familiar making love to him is. His fingers digging into her hips as he manoeuvres her exactly where he wants her. He is moving her incessantly, there's an urgency to it and as she can feel herself getting nearer towards completion she realises:

Her barren body is not useless. It is still able to give and receive, to be an equal partner in the worship between husband and wife. That love is so much bigger than she ever thought was possible.

That she can still be a place for Charles to come home to.

* * *

 **A/N:** How's that for a beast of a chapter! I hope you liked it.


	14. it's time

Weeks pass, the season changes and plans surrounding Downton Abbey alter with alarming regularity. Had the family first been adamant they would be leaving their ancestral home some months ago, they are now clinging to it with the strength of a drowning man. Elsie tries to keep her shoulders straight and her head up while she navigates the plans that aren't being made clear to any of them downstairs.

She is glad that her difficulties with facing Daisy have been ironed out. Beryl had been right: Daisy was glad to see her when they arrived for Sunday lunch. The girl is more than blossoming now: her footsteps are getting heavier, her movements slower. She is cared for in ways that achingly squeeze Elsie's throat shut. Andy's solid strength, Mr Mason's tenderness and Beryl's maternal sensibility all show how Daisy's child will be born in almost a fortress of love.

It still hurts at the edges. Like a papercut you don't notice until you wash your hands and it stings in a way it makes your eyes water. She puts the pain aside when Beryl talks about Dr Clarkson being very pleased with Daisy's progress or when Charles comes home with stories from Mr Mason - whom he has met for a swift half.

Charles's swift halves with Mr Mason are giving him something he has rarely experienced before: being equal to other men. Most of them have retired: the old Postmaster, some of the farmers who have been succeeded by their sons. Doctor Clarkson swings by sometimes. They put the world to rights, complain about the changes surrounding them. They look out for each other and it warms Elsie's heart that her husband, after all his years in service, finally has something resembling friendship.

She has it in Beryl and she is so very thankful for it. For someone who will make her laugh out loud, who understands when things are getting difficult. Who will tell her like it is to her face. Elsie can be herself with Beryl - she's not somebody's wife or Housekeeper when they talk about the new catalogue Beryl received through the post, the advances of technology and medicine or the lessons they are learning with age.

The lessons Elsie, Beryl, Anna and Daisy learn aren't the lessons Lady Mary and Lay Grantham learn and Elsie isn't surprised when the family makes the decision to remain at Downton and to bend to the rules of the National Trust.

"What do you mean the family is staying at Downton?" Charles has put his knife down so slowly and deliberately, Elsie isn't entirely sure if he is going to snap or sigh in relief.

"The National Trust and the Crawley family have come to a mutual agreement, where the house will be property of the Trust, as will most of the contents, but that the family will be using it as a permanent residence."

Charles frowns.

"Lady Mary agrees to that?"

Elsie nods and cuts into her stew.

Charles picks up his knife and fork again and starts eating, frowning and glancing at his wife.

Elsie understands his confusion: for Charles a decision made is a decision only broken with a recently sharpened sword. She knows he is hurt by an unspoken promise having been severed. Lady Mary changing her mind is difficult for him to wrap his head around.

"It will be some time before things will really change," Elsie says, reaching for her glass.

"Hmm," Charles grunts. Elsie sips from her water.

"At least they are staying here," she tries and Charles sighs deeply.

"What about you?" he asks.

"I was always going to stay, you know that. I wouldn't go with them."

"You might have, had they given you the choice."

It's not really a question, it's more a statement. As if he isn't sure of anything anymore. Not even her.

"I didn't give it much thought, as the decision was made for me. But you can't honestly think that I would have left you behind?"

Charles shrugs. "You did get yourself in a state over having to retire," he says by ways of explanation.

"But we talked about that, didn't we? About how I felt like I would be a burden to you, because without a job, I don't contribute anything to our economy. That I worried about what to do with myself as I'd been making myself useful since I was three feet high. You told me that I would never be useless to you. That you love me..."

Charles looks at her with dark eyes. "But what will you do now the family stays? Will you still retire?"

Elsie puts down her fork a last time, leans in and smiles at Charles. "Yes. I will."

She means it from the bottom of her heart and the look Charles gives her only affirms what she's known in her heart for such a very long time now:

They were _always_ meant to be together.

* * *

When Mr Mason storms into the Servants' Hall it's not even time for the servants' breakfast yet. Elsie has been going over some of the information Lady Mary has given her from the National Trust and Beryl is taking a well-deserved cup of tea.

"It's time," Mr Mason says. He is looking pale and worried. "The midwife has been with her since three o'clock this morning."

He is shaking and sinks down in the chair next to Beryl, who is putting her teacup back on the saucer with unnecessary force.

Elsie jumps up and grabs Beryl's coat and hat. "Off you go," she says and plonks the garments on the table.

"What about luncheon upstairs?" Beryl asks slightly bewildered by ELsie's sudden movements.

"I'll go up and explain to her Ladyship. I know I am not good in the kitchen, but I can make sandwiches. If they don't like it, they can go elsewhere for their luncheon."

Beryl nods and silently puts on her hat and coat. Mr Mason pushes himself up and leads the way. "Thank you, Mrs Carson," he says and Elsie smiles.

"Let us know how you get on, if you can," she says.

It takes all her energy to pretend she is calm. She is anything but. Her mind is going faster than Mr Talbot's racing car - Mr Talbot who has been visiting his family lately, building bridges, mending heartache - worrying about Daisy, about the baby, knowing it's hard work, dangerous work, terrifying giving birth. Mr Mason knows - he's been through it with his wife, William's mother, through the losses and the fear and the grief. Elsie tells herself that Daisy is strong, that she's been very well looked after. That she is healthy. That worrying is not going to help anyone.

Least of all Elsie herself.

She hears the door close and the wheels of the wagonette on the gravel. Beryl's tea stands forgotten on the table and behind her bells are ringing. Mr Barrow straightens his tails as he emerges from the Butler's Pantry, one eye on the bells and one on her.

"Are you alright, Mrs Hughes?"

"Mr Mason has taken Mrs Patmore to Yew Tree Farm. I confess to being a little nervous," Elsie says, measuring her words.

Elsie sees the muscles in Thomas's jaw clench. She knows he is thinking about Lady Sybil. About the pain and about how he showed his vulnerability.

"I'll tell her Ladyship. Are there plans made for luncheon?" he asks, his voice sounding breathy and strained.

"Not really. I can make them sandwiches. Miss Baxter won't mind helping me, I don't think."

Thomas frowns. "They won't be pleased."

"Thomas, I don't really care. The family will have to make do. Mrs Patmore has given her life to Downton and yes, her Ladyship had been very kind when Mrs Patmore needed her eye operation and later with the whole ordeal surrounding the bed and breakfast, but I don't think that them having to eat sandwiches will instantly turn them into savages."

THe way Thomas's eyebrows raise would make Charles proud, Elsie thinks as she watches the Butler. He turns on his heel and takes the stairs two steps at a time. The dim light catches the few streaks of grey and Elsie is reminded that he isn't as young as he once was. He's made the role of Butler his own and he has his own style, though Elsie clearly sees the training he's had when she is being asked to look over the books. Thomas has grown. He's settled down. He might not be perfectly happy, but Elsie knows that would be difficult for him. Thomas Barrow is not a lucky man. Though perhaps, one day, when people are less stifled by rules, there may be more freedom for Thomas. Peace, maybe.

She opens the door to her Parlour and gets back to work.

* * *

"Mrs Hughes?"

Elsie is startled from her calculations. "Lady Mary? How can I help?"

Lady Mary is dressed for the outdoors. A perfectly tailored tweed suit and green blouse, her hat already firmly in place; a little feather quivering in the draft.

"If you have a moment, I know you must be busy," Lady Mary says.

Elsie doesn't react to that. She is well aware she doesn't actually have a choice.

"Please, sit down," she offers a chair and Lady Mary sinks down gracefully.

"Mrs Hughes, we've not really discussed your retirement after the initial… erm… terms…" she starts and Elsie can feel her temper rising.

"If I may be so bold, Milady, I'd still very much like to retire."

Lady Mary elegantly raises and lowers her hand. "Obviously, I completely understand Carson would like to see a little more of you. I didn't come here to persuade you to stay on."

Elsie waits, her back straight, her breathing even. Fifty years of service poured into this moment to come across collected and calm.

"Did you know Mr Bates is having some trouble with his leg?" Lady Mary asks and it's a question Elsie wasn't expecting at all.

"Yes, Milady. Anna wrote to me and she told me the hotel proved to be harder than they initially anticipated."

"I see. Then you'll understand why I've been talking to Anna and why I was thinking she could be your successor."

Elsie can feel her cheeks flushing. She feels glad Lady Mary didn't say 'replacement'- that her expertise and experience are worth more than a throwaway remark.

"Anna would do splendidly as a Housekeeper," Elsie admits. "But what of Mr Bates? I don't think he would be very pleased letting Anna be the breadwinner."

Lady Mary shakes her head. "No, he is a very proud man, I wouldn't dream of not offering him a position while entertaining the idea of Anna coming here to stand at the helm. No. The National Trust needs someone to manage things here. It would be more of a desk job than what he is currently engaged in. He wouldn't interfere with Barrow's job either. It would be quite perfect."

Elsie agrees. "Do they want to give up their hotel? They dreamed of it so long. It really was a wish come true for them."

Lady Mary Mary's amused smile reminds Elsie of something Charles once said of Elsie: that she was a plotter. Then she had answered that it was a skill all women must learn and here she is, being proven right.

"Anna was worried you might feel pushed out and she daren't ask you, but we've been planning it for a while now. The hotel is being sold and the Bateses will come home to their old cottage until we can find them something more suitable."

Everything has been taken care of. Elsie is reminded of the letter where Anna spoke of something she wanted to tell her, but couldn't. She is shaken from her distraction by Lady Mary's even voice.

"Thank you, Mrs Hughes. I'll telephone Anna to let her know. I think it would be good if she could settle in before the National Trust tramples all over the way we do things at Downton."

There's a feisty streak in Lady Mary. She's the captain of the ship Downton. She'll sail it into battle and she won't back down. She's in it for the victory and the glory. She rises from her chair and nods.

"Lady Grantham will want to discuss the timeline once Anna arrives." She reaches for the doorknob and turns a last time:

"Would you please let us know how things have fared with Daisy once you've more information?"

"Of course, Milady."

Lady Mary sweeps down the Servants' Hall, past the boot crate and through the door into the courtyard. She doesn't look back.

Elsie leans back in her chair. She has a lot to think about.

* * *

 **A/N:** Don't you absolutely _hate_ it when a story won't bloody cooperate?! Hopefully I've pushed it back on track and the next chapter won't be so long.


	15. bundle

She doesn't have much experience with falling in love: her love for Charles blossomed slowly, inevitably. Through so many glasses of leftover wine she can't number them; over black ink scratched onto yards of ruled paper and burdens too heavy they could only be shouldered together. She can't imagine her life without Charles standing next to her, supporting her where she needs him to and giving him strength when he feels small.

Holding this tiny little bundle changes everything she's ever known about love. She is _hurtling_ into it. Everything and everyone around her is fading to the background as she is considering the perfectly formed, pouty lips of the baby.

Elsie has held babies before: Charlie Parks and Anna's little one, but it's never been like this. She didn't notice the sweet weight, the newborn scent. It's overwhelming; it's too much and it's not enough - it's all she never wanted and everything she's been aching to have. A tear that trickles down her cheek burns in its track. Another follows and stains the blanket the baby is carefully wrapped in.

She feels the hand of her husband on her shoulder and sees his finger gently touching the baby's cheek. Elsie is a little surprised by him suddenly being there, breaking into the cocoon that had kept her and little Betty in a small universe of their own. Elsie is happy to let him into this universe, to share this moment with him.

"She's…" he starts and halts and Elsie nods in perfect understanding.

"She is."

"You look beautiful," he says and she can hear his voice catching. When she looks up, she sees a tear gleam in his eyes.

"Would you like to hold her? I'm sure Daisy won't mind."

Daisy is being doted on by Beryl and Andy, trying to get the young mother to rest in the upstairs bedroom where Betty was brought into the world some six hours earlier.

"What if I hurt her?" Charles asks, oddly anxiously for a man who has a habit of entertaining willful toddlers.

"You? Hurting her? Charles, I've never met a more gentle man than you. Just support her head… there… perfect…"

He does look perfect. Betty would arguably fit in his hands if he held them together and it's a beautiful sight seeing her lay in the crook of his arm. Elsie smiles softly. The baby's hand peeps out from between the folds of the blanket and Elsie holds her finger in the tiny palm. Betty grabs it with the surprising strength of an infant Elsie remembers from Charlie.

"Are you holding her steady, too?" Charles asks and Elsie lets out a quiet giggle.

"It's what I'm known for," she says and she pushes herself up on her toes. Charles leans in and they kiss. The baby held safely between them, a promise of a bright future.

* * *

They stay at the farm for their tea. Charles makes a toast with his half a pint of bitter and Elsie takes a plate to Daisy who is looking very tired and pale.

"I've brought you some sausage and mash," Elsie says and puts it on the bedside table.

"Thank you," Daisy's voice sounds rough and crackled.

"Mrs Patmore told me you did a splendid job. That you were very brave and strong," Elsie compliments. She sits down slowly at the foot of the bed, trying not to jostle Daisy about.

"You must be in pain," she says. "I remember from Ethel that it helps to sit on a board instead of the softness of the mattress. And to cool… erm… well." Elsie is blushing, but Daisy smiles a little. "I'll ask Andy to bring up a plank and a piece of ice tomorrow."

Both women are then distracted by the grizzling sound coming from the cradle in the corner of the room.

"Do you think she's alright?" Daisy asks.

Elsie gets up and moves to check on the baby. "I'd say so. She might be getting hungry. Have you tried feeding her?"

Daisy shifts uncomfortably on the bed. "Nurse Barker helped me, but Betty didn't seem to be very willing then."

"I remember Charlie Parks…" Elsie begins, but is interrupted by Betty. Not for the first time is Elsie surprised by the volume one small newborn can bring forth. She scoops the baby up in a startlingly practiced move and takes her to her mother.

"There you go, ssshhh, it's alright… here's your mam… it'll all be fine," she babbles as she hands Daisy her baby. "I'll leave you to it," she says and walks towards the door.

"No!" Daisy calls and Elsie moves back to the bed, taken aback by Daisy's vehement outcry. Daisy is looking at Betty helplessly and then up at Elsie.

"I don't know what to do."

It's such a quiet confession, almost drowned out by the crying that seems to be bouncing off the walls.

"I'm no great expert, Daisy," Elsie warns.

"But you were there with Charlie, you just said. I've never even been around a baby and Nurse Barker was in such a hurry because she was needed by another family."

Elsie straightens, breathes in as deeply as her corset allows and tries to remember a similar scene in a dingy room, eight years ago.

* * *

Seeing Daisy looking down on her baby with such love and wonder is Elsie's cue.

"I'm going to go downstairs and I'm taking this plate with me. I'll send Andy up with a new one," she says, and she can tell Daisy hardly hears her. She kisses Daisy's forehead and leaves the bedroom quietly.

Downstairs the men are washing up and Beryl is on the settee, knitting. She puts it down when she notices Elsie.

"Is everything alright? You were up there a long time," she asks.

"Betty needed a feeding, but Nurse Barker didn't really give any instructions, so I stayed with her until she got it sorted. She didn't manage to even get a single bite, though."

Elsie puts the plate of congealed mash on the kitchen table.

"I'll make her a sandwich later."

"If you do it now and bring it up, you can sit with her a bit and help her with the first nappy change," Elsie suggests.

Beryl smiles. "I think I will. You'll be off then?"

"If my husband has finished his chores."

"He's almost done with the dishes and then he still has some silver to polish," Beryl teases.

Elsie laughs with her friend. Not because it's funny, but because everything is alright. Because there's a healthy bairn upstairs, with her mother. Because the threat they always hovers over them each time a child is to be born has been averted.

"I'm going to take him home. I've got to be at work first thing tomorrow."

"Not long now," Beryl encourages and Elsie reaches for her friend's hand. Beryl squeezes it briefly and leads her to the hall.

"I'll drop by as soon as I can," Elsie promises and calls her husband, who graciously helps her with her coat and hat. Elsie congratulates Andy once more and thanks Mr Mason and Beryl as all of them have gathered next to the hat stand.

Charles takes his wife's arm and together they walk away from the farm, back to their love nest. An aura of peaceful happiness guiding them.

* * *

"D'you want a cuppa before we head up?" Elsie asks while taking off her hat. Charles has already gone through and is sitting on his armchair, untying his shoelaces.

"I was seriously considering a large brandy, to be frank," he calls to her.

"You can go ahead and wet the baby's head, but I'm sticking with tea or else I'll never get out of bed in the morning," she responds, working the buttons on her coat loose one by one.

"I'll have tea then as well," Charles practically grunts as he toes off his shoes with unexpected force.

The kitchen is warm and Elsie fills the kettle with enough water for three cups of tea, knowing it will taste better if she makes more than they need. Her feet are cold on the tiles as the stone. She ought to have put her slippers on, but she doesn't like how her slippers make her feel like an old woman.

A frail old woman at that.

She's been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she startles when Charles is suddenly beside her.

"A watched kettle never boils," he says and Elsie can only just keep herself from jumping.

"You really shouldn't creep up on me like that," Elsie huffs.

"I did not creep up on you."

Elsie looks at him and sees that like her, he isn't wearing any slippers and that his left sock needs mending.

The whistle blows and Elsie busies herself with the soothing rituals of making tea. Behind her she can hear Charles opening the biscuit tin. He'll not find anything exciting in it. He's eaten the last custard tart and all that's left are some broken pieces of shortbread. Made by her own fair hand.

The tea steeped to perfection, Elsie pours and spoons in sugar, stirring both of their cups.

"I'm taking mine upstairs. I feel I deserve it after the day I've had," she announces.

She takes her tea and starts climbing the stairs. She can hear Charles turn off the electric light and his creaking knee as he follows her up the stairs.

"A gentleman would never let a lady go first on the stairs, Elsie says.

"I think we concluded long ago that I'm not a gentleman," Charles replies.

"We did say that…" Elsie remembers. Not wanting the conversation to derail before it's started, Elsie changes the subject.

"You looked very dapper today." Elsie pushes open the bedroom door and turns on the light. She puts her cup on her bedside table and sits down heavily. She's tired. The tension of the wait, the emotion of the first meeting and then the intimate moment she shared with Daisy: it's taken its toll.

"Hmm. I thought you looked very pretty, holding little Betty," he returns the compliment.

"That was just her youth shining on me," Elsie dismisses his sweet sentiment with a joke.

"No," Charles says, his voice muffled as he is pulling his undershirt over his head, "it was your happiness."

"I _am_ happy. Daisy is doing alright, as is the baby. Beryl supported Daisy perfectly during the whole ordeal. Reason enough to be happy, I'd say."

"And you're alright?"

"I am. It was lovely holding Betty and feeling part of these precious moments." Elsie is snapping her garters loose and rolls her stockings down.

Charles has put on his pyjamas and slips between the covers. He drinks his tea while Elsie changes and takes down her hair.

"What a beautiful baby," Elsie says as she crawls into bed. "I'm so happy we could share this today."

"And you're sure you are..."

Elsie cuddles up against her husband. "I'm fine. Just fine," she reassures him. She loves him for asking this adamantly. He wants to take care of her so much and it's a wonderful feeling. To be loved and to belong.

To be home.


	16. epilogue

**epilogue**

The bright blue sky sets off Downton Abbey to its utmost advantage. People are walking around the gravel paths - so familiar to Charles and Elsie they've become part of them - trying to sneak a peek inside. The marquee is sparklingly white in the midday sun and people are flitting in and out with cups of tea and slices of Victoria sponge. The annual fete is well underway and Charles and Elsie are standing in their familiar spot, overlooking the goings-on. Children are running around with their prizes from the coconut shields in one hand a flapjack in another. Music can be heard from the band playing in a tent on the other side of the Abbey.

"Anna has done a marvelous job," Charles compliments.

"As has Mr Barrow," Elsie responds and they look at each other smilingly. They both feel proud of their successors. It's the first fete neither of them are a part of and it's both perplexing and liberating to stand there with the house behind them, with limited responsibilities.

"Good day for it," Charles says.

"Mr Mason was quite right when he said the weather would hold," Elsie agrees.

"He is a farmer, he knows such things."

Elsie bites her lip to refrain from arguing. Even a farmer can be wrong after all, but she loves how he trusts his friend. She steps closer to Charles and he puts his arm around her. Together they breathe in the country air and the scent of baby powder and Sunlight soap.

A little hand taps against Elsie's shoulder and she turns towards her charge she's been carrying on her arm for the past hour. "What's the matter, Betty-Bee?"

The baby rubs her forehead against Elsie's shoulder. "Are you so sleepy, my love? How about I take you to the marquee where everybody is working hard to feed the masses?"

"Do you want me to take her?" Charles asks.

Elsie shakes her head with a smile. "We'd better not upset her or she'll wail."

"No baby has ever wailed when I've held them, but I'll grant you your cuddle. Magnanimously, might I add."

"You're a good man, Mr Carson," Elsie acknowledges both his offer and his teasing, "And I love you very, very much."

The shadow of a blush crosses Charles's cheeks and it makes Elsie feel all warm and tingly. _This is what it feels like to be in love_ , she thinks. When you are free to be yourself; when you don't have to hide behind rules and regulations, schedules, rosters and servitude.

There's happiness now. Contentment. There are new adventures ahead for them - looking after this little one from time to time, visiting with friends just to pass the time of day. Long walks through the rolling meadows of North Riding and even, if the mood takes them - and why wouldn't it - making love in the afternoon.

Retirement really isn't that bad.

Not at all.

* * *

 **A/N:** It's time to allow the characters to live on happily in the vast realm of my imagination.  
Thanks to all who have supported this story.


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